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Heart-Tones and Other Poems. 



Heart -Tones 

And Other Poems 




D* CyKelly Branden 

(Rev. Dominic' Brennan, C.P.) 
It 



The Peter Paul Book Company 

Buffalo, New York 

J897 



V- 



Copyright, J897, ^ I 

By D, OTCeUy Brandcn. £ .L 



Printed and bovind by the 
Peter Paul Book Company 
in Buffalo, New York. 



TO THE 

TO ONE WHO HATH SO OFTEN 
SPOKEN THE FIRST WORD OF 
CHEER TO THE STRUGGLING; 
TO A TRUE FATHER, FRIEND, 
PRIEST, AND POET, ARE THESE 
HUMBLE LINES DEDICATED 



i» 



Contents, 



POEMS OF THE SENTIMENTS. 

PAGE 

Heart- Tones, ........ 3 

The Changing Sea, 4 

What Is Worth While? 6 

Love's Vintage, 8 

Soul Stirrings, 9 

Imagination, 11 

October, 13 

Light and Shade, 14 

Hope, 15 

A Moan, 17 

There Is No Peace, 19 

Morn, 20 

The Poet, 21 

Victory, 23 

In Memoriam, 25 

Resurrection, 26 

Life, 28 

The Year, 28 

What Is Life? 29 

Longings, 30 

Winter Warnings, 31 

Spirit Worlds, 32 

The Years, 33 

Death, 34 

vii 



viii Contents. 

PAGE 

Crescit Eundo, . . 35 

A Mother's Love, 38 

A Mother's Hate, 39 

An Allegory, 40 

Separation, 42 

PATRIOTIC POEMS. 

Erin's Martyrs, 47 

Erin's Lyre, 49 

Erin, 52 

Our Patriot Dead, 56 

Our Soldier Dead 61 

Ode. In Memoriam. John Boyle O'Reilly, . . 66 

The Irish Tongue, 74 

Ode, 79 

A Nation's Tomb, 8i 

Arbor Day, 84 

The Lamb and the Lion, 86 

RELIGIOUS POEMS. 



The Christ Cry, 








91 


Heavenward, .... 








93 


The Promised Land, 








94 


Life's Motto, .... 








95 


The Passion Hymn, . 








96 


The Prayer in the Garden, . 








98 


Crown of Thorns, . 








100 


The Lance and the Nails, 








102 


The Holy Winding Sheet, 








104 


Hymn of the Precious Blood, 








106 


Good Friday, .... 








108 



Contents. 



IX 



The Holy Face, .... 

Life's Coronal — Our Lady's Beads, 

Blessed They Who Die in the Lord, 

De Profundis : A Plaint, 

Ode to Chastity, 

The Immaculate, 

The Immortals, 

Ode to God, 

The Drunkard's Christmas, 

The Pilgrim's Christmas, 



PAGE 
109 
III 

"3 
"5 
116 
122 
123 
125 
128 

135 



VISIONS OF SAINT PAUL OF THE CROSS. 



Preface, 

First Vision. The Vocation, 

Second Vision. The Temptation, 

Third Vision. The Temptation {Continued), 

Fourth Vision. Victory, .... 

Fifth Vision. The Mission, 

Glory. Ode, 



147 
149 

155 

158 
161 
164 
167 



Poems of the Sentiments. 



Poems of the Sentiments, 



HEART-TONES. 

THEY say it is singing — 
Mayhap it is song. 
Methought 'twas soul-sighing 
Oft naught but soul-crying 
O'er cherished hopes dying, 
O'er hopes buried long. 

They say it is singing — 

Nay, it is not song. 
'Tis but the upwelling 
Of spirit, rebelling 
Against the mad knelling 

Of sorrow and wrong. 

They say it is singing — 

Aye ! more than a song. 
'Tis e'en the Eternal 
Putting down the Infernal, 
Bidding on to supernal 
Spirit noble and strong. 
3 



Poems of the Sentiments. 



THE CHANGING SEA. 

GLOOM. 

I STOOD by the sea when the waves rolled high, 
And I heard but the moan of the billow 
As it rose, like a mount in the distant sky, 
Then broke o'er the sea with a plaintive sigh, 
Ere it sank to rest 
On a rolling crest. 
Like a giant on his mountain pillow. 
And my soul was sad ; for hope had fled. 

And darker seemed the morrow : 
And I thought it were better to be of the dead 
Than live here haunted by fear and dread. 
And rest from the deep 
In unending sleep 
'Neath its sheltering waves to borrow ! 

GLEAM. 

I stood by the sea when its breast was calm ; 
And it shone with a gleam of splendor 
As its bosom rose like the waving palm. 
And its murmur came like a soothing balm, 
As if each swell 
The love would tell 
Of the kissing wavelets tender ! 



Poems of the Sentiments. 

And my soul was glad with heavenly joy, 

That made the future brighter ; 
For it spoke of peace without alloy, 
Which naught but sin could e'er destroy. 
And I saw that life 
Was not all strife ; 
And my soul, for the sight, was lighter. 




Poems of the Sentiments. 



WHAT IS WORTH WHILE ? 

WHAT is worth while ? Ah, nothing 
That soon must cease to be, 
For ne'er may the heart's true longings 
Rest, but in eternity. 

What is worth while ? Not falseness ! 

For a lie doth live but a day. 
What is worth while ? Not worry ! 

It eats the heart's life away. 

What is worth while ? Complaining ? 

Nay ! for it bringeth but gloom. 
What is worth while ? Self-seeking? 

It taketh from life its bloom. 

What is worth while ? ' Tis grasping 
The hope of the present hour. 

What is worth while ? ' Tis toiling 
To perfect each wakening power. 

What is worth while ? ' Tis gladness, 
That lightens the pressing load. 

What is worth while ? ' Tis loving 
Each toiler we meet on the road. 



Poems of the Sentiments. 

What is worth while ? ' Tis duty, 
That strengthens the doubting heart. 

What is worth while? 'Tis friendship, 
That bears of Hfe's wrongs a part. 

What is worth while ? Ah, sorrow, 
That purgeth life's dross away. 

What is worth while ? Believing 

Life's night shall become endless day ! 




Poems of the Senti?nents. 



LOVE'S VINTAGE. 

''TT^WAS a pressing, 

X Sacred vintage rare ! 
Merc' less trod man's feet the wine press ; 
Only woman's heart was there. 

Lo ! First pressing. 

Nectar rich, divine. 
First love's cradle-hopes — wild bleedings. 

Drink it ! Love's first maddening wine. 

Second pressing ! 

Still man's feet do grind. 
Paler drips the crushed heart's doubtings; 

Love may not love's satings find. 

Lo ! last pressing. 

None but gods drink here. 
Crush the lifeless heart ; it bleats not ! 

Love's best vintage is a tear. 



Poems of the Sentiments. 



SOUL-STIRRINGS. 

DOUBT. 

IS it all a seeming ? 
All the heart's fond dreaming, 
All the glad rays gleaming 
O'er the blessed bourne! 
But to doom alluring, 
Sirenlike assuring. 
Victims sad securing 
Fated but to mourn ? 

Dawns no restful morrow 
On surcease of sorrow ? 
May the heart ne'er borrow 

Hope from promised rest ? 
Shall the soul's devotion, 
Tossed with sad commotion 
On life's stormful ocean, 

Win no haven blest ? 

CONFIDENCE. 

Thus mused I, hope reviling 
While heaven's orbs were smiling, 
Angellike beguiling 
Wearied souls above. 



lo Poe^ns of the Sentiments. 

Sweet their hymn descended, 
With my heart-tones blended ; 
Both to God ascended 
In a prayer of love. 

" Who in thee confideth, 
Strong his hope abideth ; 
E'en though hell derideth, 
Bright the dawn shall be. 
Hope care's tempest quelleth : 
Loud joy's glad hymn swelleth, 
Endless peace foretelleth, 
Where no change shall be. ' ' 




Poems of the Sentiments. 1 1 



IMAGINATION. 



I AM the seer ! 
And the night 
And the day 
And the depths 
And the heights, 

With their hidden things, are mine, 
And are known, 
For I see ! 

II. 

I am the bard ! 

And the beauties 

Of the morn 

And the eve, 

With their throbbings, heart to heart. 

And their sobbings ; 

With their pleadings, part to part, 

And their bleedings ; 

With their longings naught can sate. 

And their dreamings irisate ; 

They are mine, 

For I sing ! 



1 2 Poems of the Sentiments. 

III. 

I am the doer ! 

And the heats 

Of the noon, 

And the burdens, 

With the fever and the fret. 

And the hopes unanswered yet, 

And the sorrow -born day; 

And the morrow. 

With its sighings, alway ; 

And the dyings ; 

They are mine, — 

All are mine, 

For I dream ! 



Poems of the Sentiments. 13 



OCTOBER. 

DEAR October, month of sighing, 
Sere October, month of dying, 
Sighing for the fled September, 
Crying 'gainst the dread November, 
Hearsing all September's glory 
In December's bosom hoary, 
Vain would autumn ripeness beard thee ; 
Winter's warning breath hath seared thee. 
Fruit and flower and golden frondage 
Stricken, sunk in death's dull bondage, 
Yet with hope of resurrection 
Unto springtide's new perfection. 

Sere October, month of dying, 
Drear October, month of sighing. 
Sighing for life's fled September, 
Crying 'gainst the dread November; 
Must we hearse life's summer glory 
In chill winter's bosom hoary? 
Vain must fruitful autumn beard thee, 
Winter's blighting breath hath seared thee. 
Love and joy and hope celestial 
Sunk in void and tomb terrestrial. 
Nay ! Thence cometh resurrection 
Into Christ's divine perfection. 



14 Poe7ns of the Sentwients. 



LIGHT AND SHADE. 

THERE is never a joy, but a sorrow 
Sheds round it a chilling gloom ; 
Never a hope, but the morrow 
Forecasts its fated doom; 

Never a pain, but a pleasure 

Follows quick in its train; 
Never a loss, but a treasure 

Comes with its lasting gain; 

Never a birth, but a dying 

Sad beckons us on to the tomb; 

Never a death, but defying 

Life springs forth anew from the womb. 

Thus life is but sorrow- bought gladness, 
Fleet pleasure oft steeped in gall, 

Joy overmastering sadness, 
Hope lighting our funeral pall. 



Poems of the Sentiments. 15 



HOPE. 

IT was night o' er the troubled ocean ; 
It was night o'er my troubled soul, 
As I watched each heaving motion, 
As I watched each restless roll. 

And the Deep cried : ' ' Never ! never 
Shall the wearied soul find rest 

So long as aught may sever 

The bonds love's hope hath blessed." 

And I asked the heaving ocean 
If it washed no peaceful shore. 

Where ceaseless care's commotion 
Would never haunt us more? 

And a voice came back on the billow, 
* ' There is rest alone for the brave, 

And none but the brave shall pillow 
Their heads in a peaceful grave." 

Then my soul grew strong within me 
And my troubled spirit calm. 

For a valiant arm might win me 
Life's 'care-assuaging balm. 



i6 



Poems of the Sentiments. 



And a voice from the blessed haven 
Came over the blessed sea, 

Despair be the lot of the craven, 
But hope for the valiant be. ' ' 




Foems of the Sentiments. 1 7 



A MOAN. 



ON a ragged reef, 
In the meanings of the sea 
And the sand-winds from the lea 
Wrapped, knelt a soul forlorn 
In her maiden grief, 
Burdened with the past 
And the 7iow and the to be. 

II. 

Scorn and hate in her eyes. 
Looks she on the surf and the sea 
As this moans, and that dies 
On the crags ; and she cries, 
* ' Thus I break, thus I die 
When my ocean love recedes, 
Leaving life's path stone-strewn, 
As he flees, 

Sharp-edged and cruel. ' ' 
And on this side and that 
Sad she sees 

All life's way, bristling brush — 
Heavy, thorn-laden brush — 
Love's pain-decrees. 



1 8 Poems of the Sentiments. 

III. 

Then harsh words and hard from her hps 

* ' What care I if those stones cut, 

Bruise my feet, and fret ? 

What care I if those thorns 

Rive my heart and rend ? 

For their barbed spikes bore no blood. 

For that Hfe-love-warm blood 

Has been sipped. 

And when my ocean love ebbs in, 

I will sink in his deeps 

And shall sleep." 




Poems of the Sentiments. 19 



THERE IS NO PEACE. 

DEEP in the sullen, surging ocean 
Ever mad battle is raging. 
High in the murky sky the storm fiends 
War elemental are waging. 

Far in the matted, lawless jungle 

Lion is lamb devouring. 
Low in the languid, sleeping valley 

Vulture o' er victim is lowering. 

E'en in the vaunted councils of nations 

Might against right is debating. 
E'en in the infant crib the tyrant 

His first vanquished foe is awaiting. < 

Peace there is none on the earth ! ' Tis but battle 

Ruling with scepter infernal. 
Peace there is none among men ! 'Tis but struggle 

Waging life's warfare eternal. 



20 Poems of the Sentiments. 



MORN. 

IT was morn on the beautiful sea, 
And a calm 
Like a balm 
Had soothed restless ocean and me. 

All the night had the sea tossed and moaned, 

And my soul 

At each roll 
In its care-haunted depths heaved and groaned. 

O'er this tempest-tossed, shoreless sea's breast 

Hung a gloom. 

While the tomb 
Seemed to beckon to its cheerless rest. 

But at last came the heaven-sent light, 

And its beam 

Sent a gleam 
Through the soul-chilling horrors of night, 

And I saw angels smile through the dawn ; 

And the gloom 

Of the tomb 
Like the flight of a shadow was gone. 



Poems of the Sentiments. 2 1 



THE POET. 

THE poet stood by the raging sea ; 
He felt its maddened swell in his soul. 
Steeping his pen in its bitter brine, 
He wrote an ode to its restless roll. 
Men said : " 'Tis but despair's sad toll ! " 

The poet roamed through a lovely vale ; 

Morn blushed around him fresh and fair. 
Wetting his pen in the diamond dew, 

He wrote a hymn to her beauty rare. 

Men said : ' " Tis but a matin prayer ! ' ' 

The poet gazed on the dying sun 

Gilding with splendor the even-sky. 
He dyed his pen in its golden hues, 

And wrote an ode that might never die. 

Men said : " ' Tis but for rest a cry ! ' ' 

The poet stood 'neath the midnight dome, 
Where myriad lamps spread hopeful gleam. 

Dipping his pen in a glowing orb, 
He wrote a hymn to night supreme. 
Men said : * " Tis the murmur of angels' dream ! ' ' 



22 



Poems of the Sentiments. 



The poet mixed with his brother men — 
Shared their burdens of grief and wrong. 

Steeping his pen in a stricken heart, 

He wrote to soothe the care-sick throng. 
Men heard, and cried, "This, — this is song ! 




Poems of the Sentiments. 23 



VICTORY. 

I LOVE the night's soft beauty, 
I love the blushing dawn, 
I love the peaceful even 

When heats of day are gone. 

Morn bids the heart be hopeful ; 

Night tells of blessed rest ; 
Eve ends the day's sad burdens. 

Which had the heart oppressed. 

But peace comes after battle, 
And rest when toil is done ; 

Hope leads to brave endeavor, 
By which joy's crown is won. 

Hence let night's soothing beauty, 
Morn's blush, and even's smile. 

But nerve the spirit bravely 
To meet day's heats and toil. 

For across death's gloomy valley 

We see the eternal hills, 
Where the Sun of an endless dawning 

Each conquering spirit thrills. 



24 Poems of the Sentiments. 

And we hear the songs of gladness 
Borne on the trembling air : 
* ' Here night and eve and morning 
Blend in one noonday fair." 

And the Lamb is the Lamp of Glory- 
That lights this blessed day, 

Whence change and toil and sorrow 
Have forever passed away. 




Poems of the Sentiments. 25 



IN MEMORIAM. 

HATH drooped a lily thou didst love ? 
Weep not ; it bloom eth still above. 
Its calyx pure hath grown more white 
Beneath God's own celestial light. 

Mayhap it was too pure for earth ; 
God called it hence to crown its worth, 
Where no more fading, no more gloom 
Hath place, but one eternal bloom. 

Such passing is not death, but life ; 
It leadeth hence from sin and strife. 
The Christ hath called her : 'tis not loss ; 
'Tis one more lily 'neath the cross ! 

It bloometh now where spot nor stain 
Nor aught of gloom shall come again. 
When thou shalt claim it as thine own, 
It shall to heavenly grace have grown. 

Then raise thine eyes ; bid grief depart ! 
Be Christ consoler to thy heart. 
He points to endless life on high ; 
They truly live who Christlike die ! 



26 Poems of the Sentiments. 



RESURRECTION. 

MIGHTY cradle ! Mighty tomb ! 
Mother earth, 

On thy breast 
Men of worth 
Rose and rest, 
Wrought their glory, wrought their doom ! 

Clasp thou fondly what is holy, 

Hallowed dust ! 
What engendered, 

(Dust to dust) 
They have rendered. 

Spirit unto Him returneth, 

Who hath given. 
Life for Hfe untrammeled, yearneth, 

And hath striven ; 
Striving, longing, striving ever 
With a ceaseless, strong endeavor. 
Lowly part to thee confiding, 

Till the trump's dread call shall bid them 
Where, in deathless life abiding. 

Spirit of earth's chains shall rid them. 



Poems of the Sentiments, 2 7 

* * Seed of glory ! Seed of sorrow ! ' ' 
Mother earth, 

In thy breast 
Sin and worth 
Rot and rest 
Side by side till the dread morrow. 
Endless those shall be thy shame ; 
Endless these thy noblest fame ! 




28 Poems of the Sentiments. 



LIFE. 

LIFE is not the serried years, 
-> Joyous yesterdays and morrows ; 
'Tis the record of our tears, 

Blighted hopes, and bUghting sorrows. 



THE YEAR. 

OUT of the womb of winter 
Leapeth the lusty spring ; 
Over her nakedness summer 

Her flower-decked robes shall fling. 
Autumn shall garner the fruitage 

Radiant summer gave, 
Leaving the flowers to wither 
On winter's cheerless grave. 



Poe?ns of the Sentiments. 29 



WHAT IS LIFE? 

WHAT is life? Is it fame 
Won at man's whole debasing? 
What is life? Is it pleasure, 

Man's godlike soul effacing? 
What is life? Is it power 

Swayed o'er some meeker brother? 
What is life? Is it wealth 

Snatched from some weaker other? 
This is life ! It is love 

Clasping all man's world communion. 
This is life ! It is heart 

Throbbing in love's world reunion. 
This is life ! It is will 

Urging ever good's volition. 
This is life ! It is mind 

Thinking error's abolition. 
This is life ! It is Christ 

Heart and mind and will informing. 
This is life ! It is man 

To Christ's brotherhood conforming. 



3© Poems of the Sentiments. 



LONGINGS. 

OUT in the vast world somewhere 
Singeth a heart for me : 
Raptured and sweet ring the carols 

O'er the dark, turbulent sea: 
Almost I hear them and answer, 

Lifted a moment from strife ; 
Almost they melt to a music 

The crash and the clang of my life. 

Out in the vast world somewhere 

Yearneth a spirit for mine, 
Lone in the hurrying millions, 

Faint with a hunger divine. 
Wait, spirit, a litde space longer ; 

Why, haply tomorrow we meet ! 
Sing, heart, ever sweeter and stronger ; 

I come, and the song is complete ! 



Poems of the Sentiments . 31 



WINTER WARNINGS. 

FAST wanes the fruitful autumn time, 
When winter's king from frozen clime 
Sends forth his first bechilling breath — 
Drear warning of the year's sad death. 

On radiant leaf and fruit and flower, 
He stamps the seal of his dread power. 
Their mellow tints grow dull and sere ; 
The year's last agony is near. 

He paints the frondage golden bright, 
To lull it for his cursed blight. 
Then sends his wind-wings whizzing by 
To drown in rage the dying cry. 

All bleeding, sere and bruised they fall. 
To make for earth a funeral pall. 
In death, fruit, flower, and frondage rest 
Upon their martyred mother's breast. 



32 P 067715 of the SentiTTieTits . 



SPIRIT WORLDS. 

NATURE is freighted with cursings and bless- 
ings 
Whispered or hissed into her mighty ear. 
Harrowed with anguish, cheered with caressings, 
Soul-crucifyings the dull cannot hear. 

Spirits are yearning in love unrequited, 
Chaste victims wasting in silence away. 

Spirits are yearning for shadow-forms sighted. 
Beckoning onward with mocking display. 

Summer's soft zephyrs are naught but soul-sighings ; 

Heart lisps to heart in nature's vast breast. 
Autumn's deep moanings are love's sadder dyings 

Sinking in anguish to unblessed rest. 

Hope lispeth gently in spring's softest pleadings; 
Youth flings its longings throughout life's glad 
bloom ; 
Into chill winter's breast drops love's heart-bleed- 
ings; 
Wild screams the victor, death, o'er love's still 
tomb. 



Poems of the Sentiments. 33 



THE YEARS. 

To Father Cronin, March i, 1896. 

GREAT heart! the varied years have served 
thee well, , 

Expanding thy great soul to every claim 
Of man's vast brotherhood in Christ; thy aim 
To sound for aye dark error's lasting knell, 
And truth's all-freeing power aloud to tell. 
Dared tyrant raise his arm, upon his name 
Thy voice did fix the fitting brand of shame. 
Till men longed for that sound and loved it well. 
Great teacher, we have learned to sit and hear 
The words of wisdom and of beauty ; may 
The years still spare thee for thy Christlike task — 
To soothe the troubled heart, to dry the tear 
Of misery, and wrong's dark deeds unmask, 
That all may know whom knowing all revere. 



34 Poems of the Sentiments. 



DEATH. 

O BITTER, sad reality of life — 
Remorseless Death ! What though aught 
else doth fail, 
Thy mere' less power must o'er all prevail; 
Proud, heartless victor in unhallowed strife ! 
'Gainst thy dull realm rebellion e'er is rife. 
Thou gruesome monarch of a gruesome world, 
Where floats thy pirate banner never furled, 
Where deadly smites thy never-sparing knife. 
Nor laughing infant eyes with thee have power, 
Nor youth, nor age, to stay thy fated hour, 
I know thy love- void, soul-bechilling stare ; 
Thou art a hideous, hated, hateful thing. 
Oft had I cursed thee in my mad despair 
Had Christ not robbed thee of thy sin-born sting. 



Poems of the Sentiments. 35 



CRESCIT EUNDO. 

Onward and Upward. 



OUT from our spirit is calling 
The voice of the imaged God, 
* ' Onward and upward ' ' forever, 

Casting from us this prison of clod ! 
Upward to all that is noble, 

Onward to all that is true ! 
The old and the sordid behind us, 
Before us the high and the new. 

II. 

Down through the ages are calling 

Voices of bard, sage, and saint ; 
Bidding us onward and upward, 

Never to falter or faint, — 
On to where Beauty holds scepter, 

On to where Truth rules supreme, 
On to where Virtue is striving 

To rival e'en Sanctity's dream. 



36 Poems of the Sentiments. 

III. 

••I am the monarch," sings Beauty : 

' ' Come with your hopes and your fears ; 
Come to the heights where the poet 

Far, far beyond time's Hmit peers; 
Where hope glints and gleams in God's sunshine, 

That banisheth gloom away ; 
Where never is night or the noon heat. 

But ever the gold dawn of day. 
Come onward to me from the rabble 

That sleeps in earth's filth and gloom, 
Come upward to me from the valley. 

Where lower fell mists of the tomb." 

IV. 

' * Come unto me, ' ' singeth Reason, 

" For mine is the seen and the known. 
Choice fruits of the ages I've gathered 

Wherever earth's sages have sown: 
Truth — it is mine — and the glories 

Of science and wisdom sublime ; 
Well have I garnejred the fruitage 

Begotten of genius and time. 
Onward to me from the rabble — 

Spawn of the night and a He! — 
Upward to me from false pastures ! 

Who feedeth on error must die." 



Poems of the Sentiments . 37 

V. 

''Come higher to me," pleadeth Virtue, 

' ' For Beauty and Truth both are mine ; 
Ever their goal is the human ; 

Lead I to end all divine. 
Where heart finds its longings sated, 

Where mind rests in truth's embrace. 
Well guide I the will till man gazeth 

Entranced on the Master's bright face. 
Onward to me from the rabble 

That wallows in sense and in sin ! 
Upward to me e' en to Calvary ! 

There alone shall we victory win." 

VI. 

Out of our spirit is calling 

The voice of the imaged God. 
Onward and upward forever, 

Where saints, bards, and sages have trod. 
''Onward and upward, God's gospel !" 

Nature doth loudly proclaim ; 
' ' Onward to victory and glory ! 

Upward from failure and shame !" 



;^S Poems of the Sentiments. 



A MOTHER'S LOVE. 

A MOTHER'S love! Who knows its sacred 
power, 
Since God himself to it doth seem to bow? 
What marvel Satan should before it cower 
And vice assume pure virtue's radiant brow? 
But 'tis omniscient, e'en though passions lower 
And guile would seek to ruin its loved one now : 
It knows nor year, nor day, nor stated hour ; 
For love would love no moment lose allow. 
A mother's love is naught but mother's life: 
Though lips be mute, her heart breathes constant 

prayer 
That Heaven guard her darlings from all strife ; 
Her fondest longing is their ills to bear ; 
And though ingratitude would sheathe its knife 
Deep in her heart, her love would clasp it there. 



Poems of the Sentiments. 39 



A MOTHER'S HATE. 

A MOTHER'S hate! Who dares to say the 
word? 
Can one beget, and what begotten hate ? 
Such God-belying thing were never heard ; 
Such love-destroying contradiction great. 
And yet 'twere so ; hate has a mother stirred 
With wrathful ire revenge could never sate, 
Till life itself seemed for naught else conferred 
Than prove love may to rage degenerate. 
Than disappointed love naught fiercer lives ; 
More fierce as higher were the hopes deceived, 
Till every moment newer ardor gives ; 
Increased by satisfaction, not relieved : 
And when the source of frustrate hope hath rise 
In mother's love, life lasting never dies. 



40 Poems of the Sentiments. 



AN ALLEGORY. 

ALL the long, dread night the tempest 
L Had raged through forest and vale, 
Moaning o'er rugged mountains 
Like some lost spirit's wail ; 

But at morn the mount rose peaceful, 
And the valley lay silent and calm, 

And the grain in the meadow was swaying 
Like the swell of the wind-waved palm. 

Then I entered the somber forest 

Where all night the storm-fiends rode ; 

And rack and ruin were scattered 
Where'er their death-hoofs trode. 

One great giant oak had wrestled 

With the storm through the long, long night 
And it rose from each blast of destruction, 

Like a warrior in dauntless might 

Till the storm fiends, screaming madly. 

Rushed on with a frantic sweep. 
As they followed the Storm King's chariot, 

Who ruleth the restless deep. 



Poems of the Sentiments. 41 

And they smote the oak Hke a tempest 

Smiteth the sinking ship, 
And they seized on its goodly branches 

With a mere' less, deadly grip ; 

And that mighty oak seemed vanquished. 

For it bowed its stately head, 
And its sweeping arms hung helpless. 

Cried the fiends, '"Tis dead ! 'Tis dead ! " 

But at dawn I gazed delighted : 

'Twas not fated yet to die, ^ 
For its own dear youthful saplings 

Held its noble head on high ! 

And each fruitful autumn decked it 

With garlands of purest gold, 
While its saplings stood round their monarch 

Like a mighty host of old. 

Till the weight of life's winter smote it 

More kind than that deadly storm, 
And calm on its couch eternal 

It stretched its mighty form, 

Where its saplings, arms are waving 

Over its sacred breast. 
Sighing a loving requiem 

For its eternal rest. 



42 Poems of the Sentiments. 



SEPARATION. 

IT was dawn, and the gold of the eastern sky 
Shed its sheen o'er mountain and vale ; 
And our spirits were blithe as the breath of the morn, 
And glad as the notes on zephyr-wings borne, 
Wafting heavenward earth's matin hail. 

Hand in hand we began life's journey with joy, 

As morn cheered the way with its hope ; 
And we heeded not sorrow that lowered in the sky. 
For the gloom and the gleam in a moment went by 
As we dared with life's battles to cope. 

But the day grew apace, and the noon pressed us 
close 

With its soul-wearing toil and heat. 
Oft blighted hope's relics saddened the past, 
And oft was the future with sorrow o'ercast, 

As life's night swept on sullen and fleet. 

With a press of the hand still we bore bravely on ; 

'Twas Duty that guided us now. 
While courage was read in each brotherly glance 
And victory beckoned to noble advance, 

Up, up to the mount's blessed brow ! 



Poems of the Sentiments, 43 

But the height it was rugged and lone and steep, 
And death's torrent rolled down its dark side. 
With a shock like the tempest it swept us atwain : 
And I sought and I sorrowed, sought and sorrowed 
in vain ; 
Alone must I brave the dread tide. 

Yet I caught a soft murmur coming over the sea 

Like a zephyr's sigh sinking to rest ; 
And it fell on my soul like a saved spirit's cry : 
"Onward, O brother! we never can die. 
Peace waiteth in God's haven blest." 

And ever, forever, though left here alone, 

Methinketh his voice bids me cheer ; 
And oft have I dreamed doth he near me abide, 
Aiding my feeble steps up the mount's side. 
From my heart keeping all blasting fear. 

And soon shall I reach that mount's blessed top. 

Whence glideth life's placid sea; 
And over its bosom to God's loving breast 
Together our spirits shall glide unto rest, 

Where parting shall nevermore be ! 



Patriotic Poems, 



Patriotic Poems. 



ERIN'S MARTYRS. 

THE martyred dead of Ireland 
Have hallowed every clime 
Where Celtic blood and Celtic dust, 
Where martial arm and patriot trust 
Proclaim her deeds sublime. 

Not by the tyrant's throne alone 

Have Erin's martyrs bled, 
Where tyranny's gory priestess stood, 
Drunk with the patriot's sacred blood, 

With which her lips are red. 

Where'er oppression's arm was raised, 

There Celt was seen to fall ; 
On soil where Moslem tyranny reigns. 
On Europe's blood-encrimsoned plains, 
They died at freedom's call. 

47 



48 Patriotic Poe7ns. 

Their bones have bleached on Afric's sands, 

In far Australian wild ; 
And here where freedom rules alone 
On battlefield the Celt is known — 

Her dauntless, noble child. 

And as his lifeblood ebbs away 

Upon some alien shore, 
His last fond thought is of the land 
Crushed helpless 'neath the tyrant's hand. 

Is it to rise no more ? 

No ! As Judea's seer of old 

Saw Israel's bones arise, 
So Heaven's breath shall spirit give 
And Erin's martyred sons shall live 

'Neath freedom's deathless skies ! 



Patriotic Poems. 49 



ERIN'S LYRE. 

HOW can we sing the Celtic songs 
In alien tongue and land? 
How can we wake the silent lyre? 
How can we feed song's sacred fire 
On solemn theme and grand ? 

When by the waters of Babylon 

Sat Zion's sons and wept, 
Voiceless their lyres on the willows hung ; 
No theme inspired from their prophets rung, 

Who captive vigil kept. 

Yet would the tyrant hear the bard 

Jehovah had inspired. 
Then struck the seer the startled strings : 
Loud on each note malediction rings — 

Each captive breast was fired ! 

Then rose their voice like the swelling storm, 
Led by the prophet's prayer: 
"Palsied his tongue who abandons thee! 
Blasted and withered his right hand be 
Who forgetteth Zion fair ! 



5© Patriotic Poems. 

Judge thou, O Lord, in Jerusalem's hour, 

Edom's children proud, 
Who thus have laid thy temple low, 
Who struck thy people with tyrant blow. 

Boasting their victory loud. 

Blessed is he who with measure meet 

Babylon shall repay." 
Persian and Mede like a mighty shock 
Came, — dashed "the little ones" 'gainst the rock. 

Babylon passed away. 



Oft Celt hath sung in alien tongue. 
Crushed 'neath the tyrant's hand. 

Ever his song was a curse and a prayer, 

Deathless the love its tones declare 
For martyred Ireland ! 

Long hath that prayer reached Heaven' s throne, - 

A tyrant's doom bespoke. 
Like Edom's sons in boastful pride, 
'Ever, forever," they swore, "we'll abide!" 

But they vanished like passing smoke. 



Patriotic Poems. 5 1 

Blessed is he who with measure meet 

The Lion shall repay ! 
Hurling him low with giant shock, 
Dashing his whelps against the rock, 

Snatch his vain power away. 

Then Erin's lyre shall freedom's tones 

Waken with raptures grand ! 
From every Celtic breast shall rise 
A prayerful anthem to the skies 

For ransomed Ireland ! 




52 Patriotic Poems. 



ERIN. 

"There is something sacred and infallible in the poet's dream." — 
Father Tom Burke. 

OERIN, how glorious, how sad is thy history ! 
How vaHant thy heroes, how cruel thy foes ! 
Thy past glory shrouded, thy future a mystery, 
Thy present — O God, what wrongs and what 
woes! 

Shall my Muse sing today of thy joys or thy sorrows, 
Of thy sons' noble deeds or thy foe's cruel reign ; 

Giving lifetothepast, making presentthe morrows, — 
Those glories, these hopes, that ever remain? 

Ah! yes, I will sing, but will sing not of sorrow; 

Nor need I recount thy glories of old, 
Or even make darker the present, or borrow 

My theme from the wrongs that have often been 
told. 

Thy record's engraven on time's deathless pages: 
It tells of thy glory ; it tells of thy foes. 

To them it bodes evil ; to thee it presages 

The boon Heaven's justice to constancy owes. 



Patriotic Poems, 



53 



I see, yes, I see, in the dim, distant future, 
A light breaking surely o'er Erin's dark bane; 

The clouds of oppression that slavery nurture 
Burst asunder — dissolve like a mist from the 
main. 



An angel of justice, like sunburst at morning, 

Descending o'er Erin in liberty's car. 
Rends the chains that enslaved her, the enemy 
scorning. 
Crying out to the world, "Riseth Erin's day- 
star!" 



' ' Arise, arise, Erin ! thy hour is approaching ! ' ' 
Hear the cry echo loud from every land. 

"Drive the foes from thy shores, who, for ages en- 
croaching, 
Have sought to despoil thee by tyranny's hand." 



Hear the vow solemn uttered — the promise that 
never 

From Erin's green shores they more shall depart, 
That now and forever the chains they will sever 

That bind Erin's children, that load Erin's heart. 



54 Patriotic Poems. 

Now Saxon to Kelt, now foe unto foeman 

Are met, where their fathers had battled of old, 

In Boyne's bloody valley ; and thus spake the omen: 
"Here Erin should conquer, where Erin was 
sold." 

How sudden the change ! how just is the glory 
That freedom bestows on every hand ! 

Republic of Erin, how noble the story 

Thy bards now proclaim throughout thy free 
land! 

Is this but a dream? Oh, no; 'twould be cruel 
To torture thus hopes that never depart : 

Too long, O too long, has tyranny's rule 

Tried to banish forever these hopes from thy 
heart ! 

O God, hear the cry to heaven ascending, 

Coming back from the past like wailings of woe. 

Reaching far in the future and liberty blending, 
With faith ever bearing its earliest glow. 

Shall this last noble effort, O Heaven, prove fruitless? 

Shall tyranny conquer forever ? Oh, no ! 
It cannot be thus — it shall not be bootless ; 

'Tis ours by its justice, as justice shall show. 



Patriotic Poems. 55 

O Father almighty of justice and mercy, 

Who rulest the ruler, who guardest the weak, 

We pray, we beseech — O God, we demand thee 
To give us the freedom in justice we seek. 

The years of oppression, the church desecrated. 
The old pillaged cabin, the hearthside made 
drear. 

The lands confiscated, the priests immolated, 
The lives given freely and never with fear, 

The prison, the gallows, the famine, the plunder, 
The wail of the orphan, the lone widow's prayer, 

The exile's long sighing, the years he spent under 
The yoke of the tyrant, whose vice was to spare. 

That faith-flame of freedom, in splendor unceasing, 
On Erin's first altars burned, never to wane 

(Down, downthedread ages, that splendor increasing, 
Mad rivers of blood flowed toquench it — in vain !), 

The cry of the virgin, the martyr's mute bleeding, 
The moss-covered shrine, the ruined old tower, 

All lift unto Heaven the voice of their pleading, 
"God grant Erin rest, meed of freedom-won 
power." 



56 Patriotic Poems. 



OUR PATRIOT DEAD. 

Read at the Grand Army Reunion, 1895. 
I. 

UNFURL those banners ! Let them wave 
Above the patriot's hallowed grave! 
Unmuffle that drum ! Let its proud beat 
The nation's trusted warrior greet! 
Far let the fife's shrill cry be heard, 
That once the silent dead hath stirred ; 
Be hushed the trumpet's funeral note. 
Let strains of joy and victory float 
Above the ashes of the dead, 
O'er hearts that bold for peace have bled. 
Strew flowers mid song and gladsome cheer. 
For mourning were but mockery here. 
We come to grieve not o'er the slain, 
To moist their graves with weeping vain ; 
We come to sing of victory high, 
By patriots won, who dared to die! — 
Of peace, that still doth strong abide, 
By patriots won, who would have died. 



Patriotic Poems. 57 

II. 

See, Columbia's tears are falling! 
Hear Columbia sadly calling 
'Gainst the horrid doom appalling 

From her own misguided sons, 
Who, with maddened frenzy raging, 
In enslaving cause engaging, 
'Gainst their brothers fiercely waging 

War, true freedom ever shuns ! 
Shall none heed a mother's pleading? 
Soothe her heart in anguish bleeding ? 
Shall no valiant arm defend her ? 
Smite the foe that fain would rend her? 

Shall she want relief? 

In her hour of grief * 

Shall not Heaven succor send her? 

III. 
Hear, hear the answer; gaze on every side; — 
Unnumbered hosts arise — Columbia's pride: 
From stall and mart, from hall, from cottage low 
They come, they come a children's love to show. 
A wife gives up a husband at the call ; 
A mother gives her darling boy, her all ; 
The son, a father ; father spares a son 
To fight, to die that Freedom's cause be won : 
And where the son and father nobly died. 
Oft wife and mother ministered at their side. 



58 Patriotic Poems. 

IV. 

Hear the clash of arms resounding, 
Like the ocean's mad rebounding ! 
See the cannon's fiery flaring, 
Like the storm-wild lightning's glaring! 
See the flash of bayonets gleaming, 
Like the meteor's lurid streaming! 
Hear the deadly rifle's rattle, 
Like the tempest's ceaseless battle! 
Hear the pleading of the dying ! 
See the pale death's face uplying ! 

Hear the moaning 

And the groaning ! 
See the stricken father falling 
By the son, for succor calling ! 

Hear the crying 

Of the dying ! 

See the urging 

And the surging 
Of mad war Columbia scourging ! 
Through the tortured air are streaming 
Shot and shell, like demons screaming ! 
Hosts upon the earth are lying, 
A mother' s breast their lifeblood dyeing ! 
All the nation sunk in nether gloom ; 
All the nation one vast bloody tomb ! 



Patriotic Poe?ns. 

V. 

Rejoice ! the cursed war is done ; 

Columbia hath victory won. 

A cry of anguish rends the air ; 

A mother weeps her offspring fair : 

Her brow is veiled in sorrow deep ; 

She breathes a prayer where martyrs sleep 

From frozen north to tropic plain 

She sighs a requiem o'er the slain ; 

Where'er a son in valor bled, 

She mourns as one her hero dead. 

VI. 

At Appomattox with Grant and Lee 
Anew is born ' ' Fraternity ! ' ' 
Throughout our fair predestined land 
Each brother clasps a brother's hand, 
And where they met to fight and die 
They meet to foster liberty ; 
Till once again all tongues proclaim 
In deathless tones Columbia's fame. 
Come, deck today the patriot's tomb 
With flowers of fairest, richest bloom : 
For spotless youth bring lilies fair ; 
For manhood, roses, ruddy, rare ; 
Around each silent slab entwine 
The clasping tendrils of the vine ; 



59 



6o Patriotic Poems. 

Forget-me-not and bleeding-heart 
Shall lasting lessons there impart ; 
For soldier's grave is as a shrine 
Proclaiming truths of worth divine, 
Where every slab doth silent preach 
The noblest lessons earth can teach ! 
To country — duty, bold and free, 
To shield with life her liberty ! 

VII. 

Sleep, patriot heroes ! calmly sleep ; 
Thy brethren love's fond vigil keep! 
All honor to our patriot dead, 
Who in the cause of freedom bled ! 
Honor to those who still remain 
To prove their dying was not vain. 
May God from his all-giving hand 
Shower blessings on our noble land, 
As, from the frozen northern wild 
To land of bloom and zephyr mild, 
From rise to set of quickening sun, 
We stand a people, free, united, one. 



Patriotic Poems. 6i 

OUR SOLDIER DEAD. 

Read on Memorial Day, 1896. 



WHERE shall our soldier heroes calmly sleep? 
In the nation's mighty heart. 
Where shall the living patriot vigil keep? 
Where shall fond wife and mother hopeful weep? 
Where shall a worthy offspring ever reap 

Of patriot fame a part? 
Here where our soldiers' sacred ashes lie ; 
Here with the men who fought prepared to die ; 
Here let their ransomed sons learn how to live, 
And at the nation' s call e' en life to give. 
Over each soldier's mound their hearts shall glow 
In gratitude to those who sleep below, 
Shall learn to cherish dearer e'en than life 
This land of freedom, fruit of deadliest strife. 

II. 

'Twas night, the horrid din of strife was hushed 

Along Potomac's shore. 
All day the frantic hordes had madly rushed ; 
All day the war fiend's iron hoofs had crushed 

Our patriots' life in gore ; 



62 Patriotic Poems. 

Or else mid cannon roar, 

Or bayonet's crash, 

Or sabre flash, 

Or frenzied dash, 
Hosts fell to rise no more. 
Grim war, proud Satan's primal mad assay 
Like hellish vulture lowered o' er the day, 
As brother rushed 'gainst brother in the strife, 
As brother smote a brother for his life. 
Till, steeped in loved ones' blood, Columbia's breast 
Was crimson dyed to win her children rest. 



III. 



No sound irreverent rose. Was heard the sighing 
Of the fretted night winds o'er the dying, 
Or else the picket's solemn, measured tread, 
Keeping a gruesome vigil o'er the dead ; 
While shed the frighted moon her wistful beam 
Where wearied patriots mid the fallen dream. 
Or ray from smoldering campfires' fitful light 
Lit Gettysburg's bloody field that horrid night. 
Twice rose the sun and set o' er that dread field. 
Ere sets the morrow's sun, the Gray must yield. 
Brave Reynolds' blood, and Sickles' heroes true 
Must be avenged by the avenging Blue. 



Patriotic Poems. 63 

The martyred warriors of Excelsior Corps, 
Brave Gushing dying mid the cannon's roar, 
The bloody Round Top, Cemetery Ridge, 
The fatal orchard, and the tottering bridge. 
All cried for vengeance on that fateful night, 
All nerved brave hearts to battle for the right. 

IV. 

Hark, on the stillness sounds the postman's call, 

Bringing the welcome news from cot and hall. 

Mid silence deep, the roll is solemn read, 

Of living, and of wounded, and of dead. 

The living, cheered by words of love and hope. 

Upon the morrow with the foe must cope. 

Each name unanswered told of heroes slain. 

Whose darkened corses strew the gory plain. 

"John Howard," cried the postman. No reply. 

"John Howard," cried he louder. Hark! a cry, 

A feeble cry, in answer to the name. 

From one whom all thought hushed forever came. 

He slowly lifts his head, wild stares around, 

Grasps the letter, sinks back onto the ground. 

"Read, comrade," gasped he, " mother's message 

dear, 
Let her sweet words be last that I shall hear." 
He read : ' ' My darling boy : Last night I dreamed 
You stood beside me, and methought you seemed 



64 Patriotic Poems. 

All clothed in radiant white. Your face did beam 

With spiritual beauty ; but a gleam 

Of ruddy bright did shine above your heart, 

And as I clasped you to my breast a part 

Of your lifeblood did flow : and then methought 

I pressed your pallid lips with mother's kiss, 

And woke to find it dreaming, mocking bliss. 

God bless you, boy, and spare you unto me ; 

Thy mother's prayer is, hurry home when free." 

He stopped. The dying youth cried : * ' Place it 

here 
Above my heart, a mother's blessing dear. 
Ah, I come — sweet mother. " From his transfixed 

side 
His lifeblood rushed, love's message crimson dyed. 
And that fond mother in her northern home 
Did languish for her boy who ne' er would come. 
Ten thousand wives ; ten thousand mothers sighed 
For sons and husbands who for freedom died ! 

V. 

Thank God, thank God the bloody strife is o'er, 
And thrice- won peace doth reign from shore to shore. 
Bring we the garlands of glory, 

And weave them 
Fresh with the laurels of story. 
And leave them 



Patriotic Poems. 65 

Decking the graves of the dead, and entwining 
E'en the glad brows of the hving, and shining 
Bright with the splendor of vict'ry supernal, 
Freeing from hell-born rebellion infernal — 
Presage of peace and of union eternal ! 

VI. 

Praise to the dead in the nation's heart sleeping ; 
Praise to the living their sacred trust keeping. 
Heaven spread o'er us thy wings all-preserving, 
Make us a nation thy care all-deserving. 
Nation of destiny ! Heir to the ages ! 
Big with hopes of the race, that presages 
Freedom's best triumphs: aims great and holy, 
Unto thy keeping confide we them solely. 
Up from each soldier' s grave hope springs inspiring, 
Freedom and progress each noble breast firing. 
Onward to glory, united and free. 
Guardian of nations and earth's destiny. 



66 Patriotic Poems. 

ODE. 

In Memoriam. John Boyle O'Reilly, August, 1894. 
I. 

WEEP, weep the dead ! 
Weep, weep the spirit fled. 
Lived he a nation's life, 
Bore he a nation's strife. 
Weep, weep the dead ! 

Yet wherefore weep? 
May sorrow solace woe, 
Make kind the cruel blow ? 
May mourning soothe our loss ? 
Gleam through the darkness glow, 
Make light the heavy cross? 
Grief less for weeping grow ? 
Woe happy future know? 

Weep, weep the dead ! 
Ne'er knew he fear or dread. 
Bard, sage, and patriot true. 
Where wrought he, freedom grew ; 
Where sang he, mercy prayed ; 
Where taught he, justice swayed. 
Weep, weep the dead ! 



Fatriotic Poems. 67 

Yet, wherefore weep ? 
Lived he not ever well ? 
Sang he not mercy's claim? 
Tolled he not tyrant's knell? 
Decked he not freedom's name? 
Then, wherefore weep? 

Aye, therefore weep ! 
Him lost, we lose our all. 
With him our hopes must fall,— 
More loss sith at his call 
We might break tyrant's thrall. 
Aye, therefore weep ! 

II. 

Sad is the spirit of Mona tonight, 

Out in the sea. 

Moaning for thee. 
Darker the morrow reft of all light, 
Lost as thy spirit took heavenward flight. 

Lost unto me. 

Sad is the heart of the patriot tonight, 

Over the sea 

Grieving for thee. 
Fondly he dreamed thy heaven-sent might, 
Would win to poor Erin long-cherished right. 

Soon would it be ! 



68 Patriotic Poems. 

Sad is the soul of the exile tonight, 

Over the sea 

Banished from me. 
Oft at thy word would the future grow bright, 
Oft would he fancy a soul-cheering sight — 

Erin as free ! 

Sad are the widow and orphan tonight, 

Over the sea 

Thinking of thee. 
'*Soon," said their hearts, "would vanish the 

blight, 
With its sorrow-steeped past, with a future to fright 

E' en Misery!" 

Sad is the spirit of Mona tonight, 

Over the sea 

Moaning for thee. 
Vainly she looks for the dawning of light. 
Hoping she follows thy heavenward flight. 

Hoping in thee. 

Once had I dreamed as I gazed on thy brow, 

Noble in youth. 

Noble in truth, 
'Fore thee the tyrant of Erin should bow, 
And to thy valor High Heaven allow 

Justice and ruth. 



Patriotic Poems. 69 

Faithful thy voice for Erin was heard, 

And at the tale 

Tyrants grew pale. 
Proudly the hearts of her children were stirred : 
" Erin should rise," with one voice they averred, 

' ' Rise without fail ! ' ' 

Glad grew my heart as brightened the sky, 
Light grew my chains, 
- Light grew my pains ; 

But, just as the hour of dawning seemed nigh, 
Thy spirit passed over our isle with the cry, 
" Slavery remains ! " 

Hark ! hear the cry that beats Mona' s shore, 

Cry from the sea. 

Crying for thee. 
Thus shall my spirit moan evermore. 
Moan till the days of oppression are o'er, 

Moan to be free ! 

III. 

Dry up the useless tear ! 

Dispel the craven fear ! 
And sing, my Muse, the glory of his deeds. 

The dawning hour is near, 

E^ en now his voice we hear, 
'' He speaks of victory, who his warning heeds." 



70 Patriotic Poems, 

He lived a nation's life; 

He bore a nation's strife. 
For ages crushed 'neath tyrant blow, 
For ages bowed 'neath changeless woe, 
A sorrowing nation him begot ; 
And, faithful son, he chose her lot. 
Oft he heard her clanking chains ; 
Oft he felt her keenest pains. 
Heard the careworn widow's sigh. 
Heard the starving orphan's cry, 
Heard the exile's hopeless moan, 
Heard the patriot's dying groan, 

Heard it all alone, 

Till his heart grew stone 
Toward the oppressor of his land ; 
Swore to burst cruel tyranny's band. 
Swore to cheer the nation's heart, 
Swore to win her freedom's part. 
Call her heroes back to life, 
Lead them on to victory's strife. 

Raise up Erin's throne! 

Upon her seagirt shore he took his stand, 
And saw close by her side, 
Puffed up with wealth and pride. 

The fierce oppressor of his native land. 



Patriotic Poems. 71 

* ' Great God ! " he cried : * ' Great God on high, 
Must Erin ever groan and sigh? 
Must Erin's gloom grow deeper still? 
Shall naught her cup of misery fill ? 

Shall every age 

Fill history's page 

With tales of woe 

That deeper grow 
As longer runs her course ? 

Shall grief and care 

Beget despair? 

Shall Erin's life 

Yield in the strife, 
Crushed 'neath the tyrant's force? 

No, no, great God ! it must not be. 
With trustful hearts we turn to thee. 
Behold, our children through the v/orld 
Are first when freedom's flag's unfurled. 
In church, in state, in science, art. 
They win for Erin honor's part. 
What, then, must be our nation's sin, 
Since here but slavery's chains we win ? 

Then rise, my country bold, arise ! 
And crush the tyrant foe, 
And prove by valiant blow 

She may not thee despise. 



72 Patriotic Poems. 

High Heaven, hear my vow today : 
* ' I ne' er shall bend to tyrant sway ! 
To freedom's cause my life I give, 
For freedom's cause alone I live. 
While life doth last be this my aim : 
My country's freedom to proclaim, 
My country's foe to brand with shame, 
That Erin may have meed of fame, 
That Erin may be more than name ! 

He Hved a nation's Hfe; 

He bore a nation's strife. 
His ardor suffering ne' er could chill ; 
In chains he felt sweet freedom' s thrill : 
The scaffold dread, the dungeon damp, 

The far Australian wild, 
The felon band. 
The convict brand. 
Could ne'er repress that spirit grand 

Of freedom's noble child ! 

He bore a nation's strife ; 
Yet came the hour of peace. 

He lived a nation's life. 
Shall she win just release? 
Shall she, like him, taste freedom's hour? 
Shall she, like him, wield freedom's power, 
Show nations that the Irish heart 
Can ne'er assume th' oppressor's part. 



Patriotic Poems. 73 

That in her beats no jealous chord, 
That she can justice all afford? 
Aye ! Heaven yet must yield her claim, 
And deck with freedom Erin's name. 
Then shall she clasp in fond embrace 
The remnants of an exiled race ; 
Then shall a nation gladly raise 
Her voice in songs of joyous praise 
To write thy name on history's page, 
To tell thy fame to every age. 
Thy tomb shall be a nation's heart, 
Whence never shalt thou more depart ; 
But Erin's sweetest joy shall be 
In endless love to cherish thee, 
And honor thee in peace and power, 
Who honored her in sorrow's hour. 



74 Patriotic Poems. 



THE IRISH TONGUE. 

To all true lovers of Irish. 

FROM out Time's mystic stream methinks I 
hear each nation's song, 

Its life, its hopes, its fame, its woes, — all, as it 
sweeps along. 

Methinks I hear each voice but thine, fair ' ' Eden 
of the West. ' ' 

Hast thou no voice ? hast thou no song ? hast thou 
no dream of rest ? 

Hast thou no glories past to tell? no future joys 
to sing? 

Hast thou no present hopes? no dream of free- 
dom's glorious spring? 

Who dared to rob thee of the gift kind Heaven 
ne'er denied, 

A nation's voice to thrill the people's heart with 
noble pride. 

And in its place a bastard tongue supplant through- 
out our land, 

The harlot Saxon for the Gaelic glorious and grand ? 

Away with this imposture foul, and give us back 
the days 

When through our land the Irish tongue was heard 
in festal lays ; 



Patriotic Poems. 



75 



When sang our bards of freedom's joys, of faith, 

of love most true; 
When all from king to peasant spake the language 

of Boru; 
When priests and people prayed to God in accents 

he had taught 
Before the sireless Saxon tongue to Erin's shores 

was brought. 
When Padrigh spoke from Tara's height, it was 

through Celtic flow 
He won her noble chieftains' hearts to love their 

Maker so. 
It was the Celtic accents sweet that rose when 

Padrigh prayed 
For Erin's faith, that faith divine that hell nor 

earth has swayed, — 
For vainly men and demons league to quench that 

vital spark : 
High up above the flood of blood rides safe that 

glorious ark. 
That ark of Erin's faith divine, in misery and woe. 
Doth proud withstand each hellish storm, each 

hated tyrant's blow ! 

O God! is this a just return, a retribution earned? 
Where is the peace — where are the joys for which 
we've so long yearned ? 



76 Patriotic Poems. 

Did Israel's sons display a faith, a hope, a love so 

true 
As we have shown through weal and woe whilst 

tempests round us grew ? 
A Moses set thy chosen people free from Pharaoh' s 

sway; 
Send us the Moses of our land to herald freedom's 

day. 
O let us see those hopeful dreams that oft our 

hearts have thrilled ! 
For we have drunk e'en to the dregs woe's cup, 

with misery filled. 
When shall these horrors cease, O God ? when 

shall they pass away ? 
When shall the mount of hope appear, — the morn 

of freedom's day, 
When through our land again shall ring the lan- 
guage of our sires, 
When Erin's own to Erin's rule with confidence 

aspires ? 
Time's mystic harp cannot display her harmonies 

complete 
Unless the silent Celtic tongue send forth her 

echoes sweet ! 
O let us hear our nation's voice again her life 

proclaim ; 
And then Time's harp shall not for us declare but 

grief and shame, 



Patriotic Poems. 



77 



Nor Erin bear upon her brow the merciless ty- 
rant's seal, 

Nor Erin's sons in alien tongues their glorious 
powers reveal : 

But she shall hold her rank of old, fair "Isle of 
Faith and Love," 

And freedom ruled by mercy shall call blessings 
from above. 



Are these but fancies vain and false that never 

are to be? 
No : God is just ; and Justice cries out, ' ' Erin must 

be free!" — 
Yes, free in truth, from slavery and tyranny's gall- 
ing yoke. 
With glory equal to the shame which Heaven must 

revoke. 
If not, then let me silent be; I'm but a passing 

breath 
That fans to life a slumbering spark or fades to 

nameless death. 
Let Erin's name and Erin's tongue lie buried with 

the past ; 
Let none pronounce them, if her shame must still 

through ages last ! 



78 Patriotic Poems. 

'Twere better far she had not been, than be but 

tyranny's slave ! 
'Twere better far her name and fame should seek 

oblivion's grave ! 

The night is long ; the clouds are dark ; the gloom 

seems deep' ning still ; 
But oh ! the glorious morn is near when freedom's 

sun shall fill 
Our land with peace and hope and joy, with power 

that ne'er shall wane 
Till time's long night shall merge into the eternal 

morning's reign; 
And as it dawns the Celtic tongue shall joyfully 

proclaim 
The last sweet note from earthly voice to praise the 

Maker's name. 



Patriotic Poems. 79 

ODE. 

Inscribed to the G. A. R., Pittsburg Reunion, 1895. 

THEY come, they come, with glory crowned: 
Strike, strike the drums with joyous sound; 
Let rapturous tones aloud proclaim 

Throughout the land 
All honor to each martyr name, 
To every living hero fame, 

Of each brave band 
That thirty years this Sabbath day 

Placed all upon the nation's altar. 
By dearest sacrifice to pay 

The price before which traitors falter ! 

Wide fling the trumpet's martial blast ! 

Shrill let the fife pipe victory's tone ! 
Loud let the cannon peal, and fast ; 

Let coward hearts be hushed alone ! 
On high shall rise this Sabbath day 

The mingled tones of joy and prayer, — 
Prayer for the martyrs passed away, 

Joy for those Heaven deigned to spare. 



So Patriotic Poems. 

Nor heaven e'er heard holier praise, 
Nor earth paid homage higher, 

Than gladsome notes today shall raise 
To feed the patriot's fire. 

All praise to you, our nation's boast ! 
Hallowed be our soldier dead ; 
Hallowed be the blood they shed ; 
Hallowed be that sacred dust 
The nation holds in Freedom's trust; 

And glory to the living host ! 

May Heaven smooth each rugged way 
Until life's last loud trump shall sound 
* ' To Rest " : th' eternal camping ground 

Through freedom's deathless, peaceful day. 



Patriotic Poems. 8i 



A NATION'S TOMB. 

EARTH silent lay beneath night's lesser beams, 
As myriad hosts in varied splendor shone 
Like guardian spirits watching midnight's dreams 
When grosser cares and toils of day were done. 

Alone I stood enraptured at the sight 

Shine heaven's glories but for sluggard man ? 

Walks not a spirit race the beauteous night, 
Whose higher life with lowlier death began ? 

Thus as I mused methought I heard a sigh 
Borne upward on the silence-laden air. 

No moaning pine, no fretful brook was nigh. 
For all was vast and boundless prairie there. 

Was it the wail of nations now no more. 

Who in their native freedom roamed this land 

Ere blighting progress touched its virgin shore 
To crush its youthful hopes with ruthless hand ? 

" Great God, where is the native Indian gone — 

The bold Apache, gallant Iroquois, 
The fierce Comanche and the brave Huron, 

The subtle Sioux and noble Illinois ? 



82 Patriotic Poems, 

Here was the joyous camp, th' exciting hunt, 
The sacred dance, the martial feat and game ; 

Here, too, bore savage war less deadlier front 
Than where hosts fall in vaunted Freedom's name. 

All now is hushed to silence of the grave, 
As if no mortal foot had pressed its dust." 

I listened. But one piteous sigh it gave : 

* * Go ask the hand that made the deadly thrust ; 

Go ask the white man in his pride of power ; 

Go ask the paleface in his lust of gain. 
Like wasting blight he came ; and from that hour 

We fell, as 'fore the scythe the waving grain." 

" Great God ! " I cried, ** why should it thus be so ? 

Why millions blasted from this blessed earth ? 
Had Rome her conquered victims thus laid low. 

Where now had been proud Europe's varied 
worth ? 

Long since the Latian Trunk would blighted lay. 
Or, mayhap, drooping with few sickly stems 

Which naught but barrenness and death display 
Where now hang fruitful Nature's richest gems. 



Patriotic Poems. 83 

O why could not a youthful race bestow 

Its native fire on sinking energy ? 
Then valiant sons and daughters here might show 

The noblest fruit of deathless Liberty. 

O God of Justice, gracious mercy show ! 

Fix not the brand of Cain upon our brow. 
Forgive this cruel, fratricidal blow, 

For which we humbly pray thee pardon now. ' ' 

Ah ! tread with reverent foot where martyrs lie, 
Where Freedom not her lowliest victims gave. 

Though reft of home for which they dared to die, 
May they forever rest in hallowed grave. 



84 Patriotic Poems. 



ARBOR DAY. 



CHANT the paeans of resurrection ; 
Ceres cometh forth rejoicing 
From her cave of dull dejection, 

Earth and sky her blessings voicing, 
Bud and blossom round her blowing, 
Sod and soil with quick hopes glowing ; 
As Proserpina advances, 

Freed from Pluto's dark embraces, 
Maid and matron love entrances. 

Life dead winter's gloom effaces. 

II. 
Break the sod, kind Heaven blessing : 

Bring the shoot, the shrub, the sapling : 
Plant the vine, whose arms caressing 

Shall with them in love be grappling ; 
Mighty oak and yielding ash 
To withstand the naval crash ; 
Homely hemlock, graceful pine, 

Apt for toilers' use and pleasure ; 
Shadeful beech for quiet recHne; — 

Plant them all, great nature's treasure ;- 
Willow, cypress, that may weep 
O'er the graves, where all must sleep. 



Patriotic Poems. 85 

III. 
Youthful hands and hearts presiding 
O'er the rite, its fruits abiding, — 
One a nation's hope unfaihng. 
One a nation's wealth unveiling ! 

IV. 

Smile, O gracious skies, above them ! 
Moist, refreshing zephyrs, love them ! 
Ceres' daughter fruitful make them ; 
Ne'er let Pluto's gloom o'ertake them, — 
Curse of Erisichthon smite them, 
Who with wanton hand would blight them. 




S6 Patriotic Poems. 



THE LAMB AND THE LION. 
I. 

HOW long, O God, shall Erin writhe in Eng- 
land's bloody jaws? 

How long, O God, shall Erin's sons sustain a hope- 
less cause? 

Shall right to might now yield as old ? shall justice 
silent be? 

Shall not each nation raise her voice to set poor 
Erifi free? 

Aye, lift your voice, fling Freedom's cry through 
every land today ; 

With voice and arm unflinching drive the Lion 
from his prey ! 

Arise, departed shades ! Arise, ye saints and war- 
riors bold. 

And give to Erin's sons the life ye drew from her 
of old ! 

Arise, arise ! out of the tombs neglected and de- 
filed. 

And wake that ancient spirit up that England has 
reviled. 

Lead on her sons, though few they be, to freedom 
and to fame; 

Surrounded by your sainted shades, they'll ne'er 
disgrace your name. 



Patriotic Poems. 87 

Oh for the power to wake to Hfe that spirit, crushed, 

not dead ! 
Oh for the days when Erin's sons knew naught of 

fear or dread ! 
When on the field of famed Clontarf, with Brian at 

their head, 
Armed with the cross, ''This is the day Christ 

died for you," he said. 
They went to death for Erin, with naught to shield 

their breast 
And boldly fought the armored Dane to win for 

Erin Vest. 



II, 



Where are those fearless spirits ? Are they lost for 

evermore ? 
Has Erin naught of valor left her glory to restore? 
Ah, no ! they live, but not for her. Alas, in alien 

land. 
Her scattered sons, of glory's crown, rare gems for 

her demand. 
On battlefield mid blood and death, their spirit 

knows no fear : 
What valor would they not display defending Erin 

dear! 



SS Patriotic Poems. 

In alien tongues her sons have ever walked in glory' s 
train : 

What would be theirs if Erin had her nation' s voice 
again ! 

Then as of old those raptures grand would burst 
from Erin's bards 

And thrill the Irish heart, that never merit disre- 
gards. 



III. 



In days long gone, when Europe groaned beneath 

barbaric sway, 
Through many a land the Celt diffused the light of 

freedom's day. 
She brought, O God, to other lands, what others 

her refuse ; 
Or power with shame, or woe with fame, they've 

left her but to choose. 
She chose the woe ; — High Heaven, thanks ! — she 

never stained her fame ! 
Long years of woe to years of power do full her 

right proclaim. 
For tyrants' sway and tyrants' wrongs must pass 

like dream away ; 
And Erin's sun shall glorious rise on freedom's 

endless day ! 



Religious Poems. 



Religious Poems. 



THE CHRIST CRY. 

O CHRIST and O Christ, how we need thee 
To visit the walks of men, 
Where thy wrong-ridden brothers are groaning. 
Waiting redemption again ! 

O Christ and O Christ, how we need thee 

To visit the haunts of sin, 
Where thy Magdalen sisters are moaning 

The redeemed Magdalen's life to begin ! 

O Christ and O Christ, how we need thee 

To visit the new Caesar's power, 
Where fraud and corruption are blighting 

This fairest of liberty' s dower ! 

O Christ and O Christ, how we need thee 

To visit the stall and the mart. 
Where suck the vampires plutocratic 

The blood of the toiler's heart ! 

91 



92 Religious Poems. 

O Christ and O Christ, come thou quickly 
To the lives and the conscience of men ; 

This wrong-ridden nation is groaning, 
Waiting redemption again ! 




Religious Poems. 93 



HEAVENWARD. 

LORD, bid me come; 
-/ Why should I fear thee ? 
Lord, bid me come; 
Earth does not need me, 
From thee would lead me : 
Then bid me come. 

Yet would I stay ; 
Earth seems entrancing ; 
Hence would I stay : 
Life seems so charming, 
Death so alarming. 
Fain would I stay. 

Yet — 'neath thy cross 
Who should be fearful? 
Firm 'neath thy cross. 
Be death's path tearful; 
Thou makest cheerful 
All 'neath thy cross. 



94 Religious Poems. 



THE PROMISED LAND. 

I KNOW a land where the deaf do hear, 
And the reft of speech have voice ; 
Where the bHnd do see and the halt do walk 
And the mourners' hearts rejoice ; 

Where the poor are rich and the feeble strong, 

And the weary toilers rest, 
And the wanderers find a home at last 

On the Master's loving breast; — 

A land where right, not might, prevails, 
Whence doubt and fear have fled. 

Where each broken heart doth boldly claim 
Its loved ones from the dead. 

It is the land where Christ is king. 
Where joy and peace hold sway ; 

And the Lamb is the lamp that lights our feet 
Unto that blessed day. 



Religious Poems. 95 



LIFE'S MOTTO. 

I BUILT within my heart a throne, 
And asked me who should rule thereon. 
Then came from out hfe's busy mart 
Full many a claim to rule my heart. 
But passion ruled there lord supreme, 
Led men by sordid, selfish dream. 
"Nay," said I: "higher lord or none 
Shall fill the heart's all-hallowed throne." 
Then spake from out my soul a voice : 
' * Gaze but within and learn thy choice. 
All men share in Christ's brotherhood : 
Thy aim should be to seek their good. 
Then place as lord upon thy throne 
Thy brother's joy before thine own." 



g6 Religious Poems. 



THE PASSION HYMN. 

Translated from Feast of the Passion. 

FIXED on the cursed tree of sin 
The Savior hangs in racking pain. 
Each torment dread — each sorrow fell, 
His tortured soul must now sustain. 

With horrid wounds the gory nails 
His sacred hands and feet shall bore, 

While life's bright streams shall lavish flow 
From heart and brow and every pore. 

Hark, hear the Son's sad cry of death! 

The Mother's heart is rent atwain. 
O Jesus! Mary! may our souls 

Be pierced with love-begotten pain ! 

The seas, the mighty deeps are stirred ; 

The hallowed dead forsake the tomb ; 
The temple's mystic veil is rent; 

The earth is sunk in nether gloom ; 



Religions Poeins. 97 

Sun, moon, and stars, all heaven weeps ; 

The earth doth groan in mighty throes : 
Come old and young, come all who love, 

And weep for Jesus' bitter woes. 

Come, stand we sorrowing by the cross ; 

Anoint in love those wounded feet ; 
With Magdalen bathe them in heart-tears, 

And kiss them dry with homage meet. 

O Sacrificial Victim high ! 

That we might share redemption's grace, 
Consummate now thy saving work, 

Among thy ransomed give us place. 

Sweet Jesus, be our peace, our joy ! 

Our hope shall ever rest in thee, 
Be thou our guide through life's sad course, 

Our crown and glory endlessly. 



98 Religious Poems. 

THE PRAYER IN THE GARDEN. 

Hymn translated from Feast of Prayer in the Garden. 



M 



ARK how the Word eterne came from the 
Father's throne, 
Burning with deepest love man to redeem ; 
For the first Adam's sin, with its fell brood of death, 
Fain would love's victim be, priceless, supreme. 

Deep was his spirit stirred at such all-saddening 
doom ; 
Longed he our bitter loss full to repair. 
Now bows he to the earth ; for our guilt-laden souls 
Seeks Heaven's pardon through his reverent 
prayer. 

Lo ! see sin' s torrents foul sweep o' er his spotless 
soul! 
Must he drink sorrow's cup ere grace be won? 
**Lord, may this chaHce pass!" breaks from his 
stricken heart; 
"Yet, Father, let thy will, not mine, be done!" 



Religious Poems. 99 

Mighty that effort was, piercing his inmost heart, 
As pain and grief and sin made their mad claim ; 

Sad sank he to the earth ; forth from each sacred 
pore 
Life's ruddy drops in deep, racking anguish came. 

Forth from the hosts at Heaven's word came a 
seraph high, 

Speaking the Father' s cheer in love' s sweet voice ; 
And at this soothing note uprose the stricken Lord, 

Godlike e'ermore in love's unchanging choice. 

Praise to the Father be, and the all-saving Son, 
Whose name supreme hath made us sinners free ; 

And to the Spirit, the all-sanctifying one, 
Be honor, power, and glory endlessly ! 



Religious Poems. 



CROWN OF THORNS. 

Translated from Feast of Crown of Thorns. 

GO forth, O Zion's daughters fair! 
Go forth, chaste virgins of the King ! 
Mark maddened Salem crown the Christ ; 
Mark Salem's sons mock homage bring. 

O horror ! see the rending thorns ! 

The Savior's locks are thick with gore, 
Death bids him on ; while down his face 

Life's crimson stream doth silent pour. 

What soil unfruitful gave ye birth, 

Ye bristling thorns, sharp brood of sin ? 

Who sowed ye, saddest seed of earth ? 
What cruel hand hath reaped ye in ? 

Yet, tinged by Jesus' hallowed blood. 
Ye turn to ruddy rose and rare ; 

Your stem accurst bears blessed fruit ; 
Blight thence becometh blossom fair. 



Religious Poems. loi 

Alack! 'twas platted crimes of men 

That made thee, Christ, such crown to bear. 

Weed thou our hearts from thorns of sin ; 
Sow seeds of fairest roses there. 

Be power and glory, praise divine, 

Eternal Father, unto thee. 
With Son and Spirit, three in one, 

Through endless ages endlessly ! 




I02 Religiotcs Poems, " 



THE LANCE AND NAILS. 



Hymn translated from Feast of Holy 
Lance and Nails. 



HAIL, blessed lance ! hail, saving nails! 
Though erstwhile served ye purpose low, 
Now dyed in Jesus' sacred blood 
Ye ruddy beam with sapphire glow. 

Vain Israel's sons in hatred deep 

Would choose ye for their fellest crime ; 

Yet God with mighty power hath made 
Ye ministers of grace sublime. 

From every hallowed wound ye bored 

A stream of life celestial ran. 
That ever beareth from on high 

The choicest gifts Christ brought to man. 

On my dull heart, Lord, turn that spear. 
All crimsoned in thy precious blood ; 

With those same nails pierce hands and feet. 
And fix me to thy holy rood. 



Religious Poems. 103 

O may thy all-atoning wounds, 

Which guilty we for sin should bear, 

Prove strength and solace to our souls. 
That in thy victory we may share. 

Keep thou my hands from evil deeds, 
My wayward feet from paths of sin. 

Pierce thou my heart with love's pure dart, 
That all life's aim be grace to win. 

Pierced with life-giving lance and nails, 

Be glory, Jesus, unto thee, 
With Father, Spirit, three in one. 

Through endless ages endlessly. 




I 



104 



Religions Poems. 



THE HOLY WINDING SHEET. 

Hymn translated from Feast of Holy 
Winding Sheet. 

SWEETEST Jesus, love consuming, 
Stricken turns my soul to thee, 
Each life-wound in love adoring. 
Mindful they did bleed for me. 

O how naked I behold thee 

In thy lowly winding sheet, 
Rent and racked in every member. 

Wounded, heart and hands and feet ! 

Hail, thou thorn-crowned head encrimsoned ! 

Reft of all its grace benign 
Is that face, 'fore which hosts tremble 

Awed by majesty divine. 



Hail, O heart transfixed for sinners, 
Hallowed cleft for flight of love. 

Fairer far than fairest bower. 
Spirit' s pledge of rest above ! 



Relizious Poems. 



105 



Hands and feet by blunt nails riven, 
I adore each wound divine : 

Turn me not away, O Jesus ; 
Bid me evermore be thine. 

Grant, most gracious Father, mercy 
Through the Son who made us free 

With the Spirit, love supernal. 
Through the ages endlessly. 




io6 Religious Poe?ns. 



HYMN OF THE PRECIOUS BLOOD. 



Translated from Hymn for Feast 
of the Precious Blood. 



SWEET bleeding wounds of Jesus, hail ! 
Boundless pledges of love supreme, 
From whose exhaustless founts doth flow 
Christ's saving blood in crimson stream 

More brilliant than the orbs of night, 
More fragrant than the fairest rose, 

Than sweetest honey sweeter far, 

More bright than brightest gem that glows. 

Within these hallowed ruddy walls 
May rest in peace the burdened mind ; 

No ruthless, unrelenting foe, 

Shall ever there an entrance find. 

What tongue can tell that scourging sad, 

As Jesus naked sinking stood? 
Who count the wounds and sacred pores 

Whence flowed the Savior's saving blood? 



Religiaus Poems, 107 

Ah ! mark thee how the thorny crown 
Doth cruelly pierce his pallid brow ; 

Unto the cross the rending nails 

His hands and feet have fastened now ; 

But scarce his longing, loving soul 

Hath fled, when through his sacred side 

The ready lance life's fountain pierced, 
Whence flowed the double mystic tide. 

Like trodden grapes that heart was crushed, 
That each redeeming drop might flow. 

That in the holocaust complete 

Man should Christ's love unbounded know. 

Though sin like scarlet on thy soul 
Hath fixed its searing crimson stain, 

Be washed but in this healing font. 
All shall be white as snow again. 

To heaven's gracious Lord and King, 
To him whose blood hath made us free, 

Unto the Spirit of all love, 

Be praise and thanks eternally. 



io8 Religious Poems, 



GOOD FRIDAY. 

ON the tree in anguish dying, 
Hear us, Lord, in anguish crying! 
Spare us on this day of sorrow, 
Or despair we ere the morrow ! 
Miserere, Jesu Mi ! 

Miserere, hear our moaning ; 
Miserere, hear our groaning ; 
Miserere, Jesu Mi! 

By thy thorn-crowned head and bleeding, 
By thy gory wounds, mute pleading. 
By thy transfixed heart, and riven, 
By thy lifeblood lavish given. 
Miserere, Jesu Mi ! 

By thy crowning and thy scourging. 
By grief's torrent round thee surging. 
By thy cry for pity calling. 
Save us from sin's doom appalling! 
Miserere, Jesu Mi ! 

Miserere, Jesus save us. 
Sinners ; in thy lifeblood lave us. 
Miserere, Domine ! 



Religious Poems. 109 



THE HOLY FACE. 

AS bowed in prayer, across my mind 
Jl\. a vision crept with solemn pace, 
And sad reflected o'er my soul 

The image of a wounded face — 

A face so sweet and yet so sad, 
As if some sin-begotten shame 

Had cast a blight upon its life, 

Fixed on its brow dark sorrow's name. 

Why is that sweet face wounded so? 

Why is it haunting me? 
Why doth it look so sad, forlorn ? 

Why weep so tenderly ? 

Ah ! list thou to that voice divine 

As plaintive now it speaks, 
And it will tell thee why these tears 

And why these wounded cheeks. 

Back it will lead thee as it led 

Me through the ages past, 
When frantic Jews in mere' less hate 

Foul spittle on it cast, 



no Religious Poems. 

And show thee how the sin-sown thorns 
Deep pierced that sacred brow ; 

How Israel smote it in mad rage, 
As sinners smite it now; 

And how, by Calvary's bloody way, 

Mid insult and disgrace, 
To Veronica's love he gave 

Love's pledge, his holy face. 

Ah, Jesus, Master! now I see 

On thy most sacred face 
The tears, the wounds, the spittle vile 

That won me life and grace. 

It was to snatch from Satan's power 

And hell's eternal flame 
Me, thankless me, that thou didst bear 

These sufferings and shame. 

Sweet Jesus, deep within my heart. 
Where love holds fondest place, 

I pray thee fix the impress true 
Of thy most holy face. 

Guide thou my erring steps in life ; 

In death light up hope's way 
To where the hosts that face adore 

Through joy's eternal day. 



Religious Poems. 



LIFE'S CORONAL— OUR LADY'S BEADS. 

TRIUNE crown of joy, of grief, of glory- 
Bring we glad today, and weave it 
For our Queen's fair brow, and leave it 
As supremest sum of life's great story. 

Weave the warp of Gabriel's telling 

Of the Motherhood supernal, 
And EHzabeth's joy, welling 

At the visit of th' Eternal. 
From the natal hymn loud swelling — 

Presage of sin's doom infernal — 
And the offering and the finding 
Weave the woof in deathless binding. 

Weave them, olive green and myrtle 

Crimson-dyed, as lashes hurtle. 

Weave the thorns — sin's sad begetting — 

Mary's heart in anguish fretting. 

Let the lance and nails firm weld them, 

As the Mother's woe beheld them. 

In her heart's blood deep baptize them ; 

For their rending she doth prize them. 

Weave a crown of joy and sorrow ; 

Glory Cometh on the morrow ! 



112 Religious Poems 



Weave it bright with Easter glowing : 

Resurrection liHes blowing 

'Bove the tomb, Christ's victory showing. 

Weave the warp from Christ's ascending; 

And the Paraclete's descending. 

Weave the woof of Heaven's splendor 

Which the hosts to Mary render. 

To your Queen, quick, seraphs, bear it ; 

None so worthily can wear it. 

Triple crown of joy, of grief-won glory, 
Bring we glad today, and weave it 
For our Queen's fair brow, and leave it 

As supremest sum of life' s great story. 



Religious Poems. 113 



BLESSED THEY WHO DIE IN THE LORD. 

A SINNER was roused in the dead of the night 
At the call of the angel of death, 
With a voice as stern and as cold as the blast 
That rides on the winter's wings; and it passed 
O'er his soul with its chilling breath. 

And it bade him follow over the deep, 

Over the deep of doom. 
Where horror had its grim abode. 
Where pallid terror restless rode 

On the wings of brooding gloom. 

And he heard a shout discordant rise, 

**Come, brother! we wait thee here. 
Here, where despair forever dwells, — 
Here, where woe joy's hope expels, — 
Where ruleth blighting fear." 

And the sinner groaned, ' ' O God, O God ! 

O where are the wasted years — 
The wasted years, the years of crime? 
O who shall restore one moment of time, 

One moment for penitent tears?" ' 



114 Religious Poems. 

As he sank he saw the distant rays, 

And he heard the angeHc strain, 
As the last soft beam of gladsome light 
Is swallowed up in the gloom of night 
That sweepeth o'er land and main. 

*' Blessed," they sang, " whoso use well 

Life's years, in mercy given; 
Blessed who sorrowing tears have shed ; 
Blessed who luring vice have fled : 

They shall rest in God's blissful haven." 




Relmous Poems. 



115 



DE PROFUNDIS : A PLAINT. 

DE PROFUNDIS ! hear them calHng 
From the depths of gloom appalhng. 
Jesu, who in mercy made us, — 
In thy mercy, Jesu, aid us. 
Let thy blood redeeming lave us ; 
Let thy blood redeeming save us. 
Far too slow flames purifying ; 
Cleanse us from sin's stains, deep dyeing. 
Mother Mary, help our pleading 
By thy mighty interceding. 
Sainted Michael, guide supernal. 
Lead us unto light eternal. 
Saints and angels faithful, hear us ; 
Chastening fires now mere' less sear us. 
Kin and friend, time's boon possessing, 
Help us in these flames distressing. 
De Profundis ! Depths of sorrow ! 
Jesu, free us ere the morrow. 



1 1 6 Religious Poems. 



ODE TO CHASTITY. 



BELIKE my theme hath oft been sung 
By bard whose raptured voice hath rung 
With accents borrowed from on high 

To swell his godlike song ; 
And 3^et my muse 
May not refuse 

Again this noble theme to choose 
And join the glorious throng. 

When God our common parent made, 
He joined in him hfe's every grade 
From lowly stock to angel high, 

All merged in him as one. 
He moved, he grew, 
He felt, he knew, 
He halted now, or now he flew, 

As fancy bore him on. 

Alack ! how sad that sin should blight 
A creature of such goodly might, 
And in a moment bind him fast 
In Satan's hellish chains ! 



Religions Poems. 117 

For, from that hour, 
In Eden's bower 

Each virtue drooped, as droops the flower 
Reft of soft summer rains. 

From Eden's sin-polluted earth, 

Which soon to thorns of vice gave birth, 

The Angel pure of Chastity 

Now fled in deepest shame. 
On, on she flew 
Till lost to view, 
While earth impurer daily grew ; 

Scarce heard was virtue's name. 

O'er earth four thousand years she flew ; 
Oft sad and weary near she drew. 
But up again was forced to fly. 

As fouler earth had grown. 
Scarce could she trace 
'Mong God's own race 
A single unpolluted place 

Where chastity was known. 

She saw in every pagan land 
Arise to Venus temples grand — 
In Persia, Egypt, Greece, and Rome, 
In every age and clime — 



1 1 8 Religious Poems. 

Till Chastity, 
Seemed hopelessly 
Condemned on earth no more to see 
Her virtue's fruits sublime. 

With saddened heart, this angel-dove 
Was forced to seek her rest above ; 
And bowed before the Father's throne, 

With mournful voice and mien — 
"Eternal King, 
No offering 
As fruit of chastity I bring ; 

On earth no more 'tis seen. " 

"Nay," spake the Father, "haste to earth; 
There blooms one flower of heavenly birth- 
A Lily fair whose calyx pure 

Enclasps my only Son. 
From out his side 
Shall come a Bride 
Whose offspring chaste shall e'er abide 

When he has victory won ! ' ' 

With gladdened heart, back, back she flew 
Till happy earth burst on her view. 
As bright the Lily pure appears 
Above the sea of sin, 



Religious Poems. 119 

Its leaves divide ; 
The Victim's side 

Is pierced, when, lo, forth comes the Bride 
Who shall new victory win ! 



II. 



THE CHURCH. 

Hail, Virgin Queen of virgin souls \ 
Though round thee vice in torrent rolls, 
Thy virgin offspring ever lives 

To show thy heaven-born power. 
This angel-dove, 
Come from above, 
Now ruleth souls of chastest love 

More than in Eden's bower. 

Mark there that gentle, youthful form, 
Despising wealth and earthly charm 
To choose the Victim crucified. 

Rejected by the proud : 
Friends intercede, 
And parents plead ; 
To earthly love she pays no heed, 

For higher love is vowed ! 



!o Religious Poems. 

On battlefield, in hovel drear, 

Mid plague and death, she knows not fear ! 

Th' abandoned and despairing find 

In her a mother true. 
Her spirit pure 
Fain would secure 
Them rest, in virtue's haven sure, 

Their misery never knew. 

Next mark that virgin army grand ! 
Mid earth's pollution, pure they stand. 
More gods than men, the world, amazed, 

Now hates, now fears their power. 
They tell the worth 
Of man's high birth ; 
They point to higher end than earth, 

While hell doth 'fore them cower. 



Aye ! mark the priest, man' s truest friend : 
His care not even death shall end. 
He blesses all in life ; in death 

He guides their souls on high : 
Nor low desire 
Doth him inspire ; 
His spirit breathes love's chastest fire. 

Whose flame shall never die. 



Religious Poems. 121 

Hail, virgin souls, our nature's boast! 
Your spirits chaste have raised man most 
Above the beastly low desires 

That chain him to the earth. 
In you we find 
Man's noblest mind: 
You prove God hath for him designed 

A life of heavenly worth. 

Come, gentle dove of fairest grace, 
And find within our hearts a place, 
Where chastity supreme may rule : 

Preserve them free from sin. 
O may love's fire 
Feed chaste desire. 
And higher aims than earth inspire, 

And life eternal win ! 



12 2 Religious Poems. 



THE IMMACULATE. 

As a lily among thorns. 
'■ I. 

J*^ I ^WAS a vision — desert vision — 
X Thorny, blasted, barren, bare. 

Lo ! nor fruit nor flowers nor frondage 
Ever bloomed or blossomed there. 

II. 

Twice a score of cycles — barren. 

See ! the desert blossoms bright ; 
On a stem accurst and thorny 

Bloometh God's chaste Lily white. 



Religious Poems. 1 23 



THE IMMORTALS. 



''^ I ^WAS a desert vast : o'er its arid breast, 
A 'Neath a nightless sky, 

With no zephyrs' sigh, 
Life's wearied pilgrims hurried by. 

With a haggard stare 

Of harrowing care, 
Ever seeking, finding no rest. 

II. 

Oft they sank by the way : the throng surged on 

Like the restless sea 

Heaving endlessly, 
Each striving but self from life's glare to free; 

Nor the dying moan 

Nor the piteous groan 
Could stay this care-haunted throng. 

III. 

Yet betimes there was seen, like an angel fair 
Who nor felt life's care 
Nor the desert's glare 



1 24 Religious Poems. 

So intent seemed he others' ills to bear ; 
And his heaven-fixed eye 
Turned men's gaze on high, 

Where at last might they God's blessings share. 

IV. 

On it surgeth, on in its self-mad course ; 

Yet this beacon light 

Through the horrid night 
Down the ages shone, from each hero bright, 

Like a God-sent ray 

To illumine life's way 
To the rood, true joy's gladsome source. 



Ah ! God's saints sublime ! May we live their life ! 

Else it were but shame 

E'en to bear their name. 
May our brother, not self, be life's high aim ; — 

Soothing each sad heart, 

Bearing grief's first part, 
Lifting each as he sinks in the strife. 



Religious Poems. 125 



ODE TO GOD. 



GREAT God ! great God ! who's like to thee, 
Who wast, who art, who e'er must be, 
Who rulest alone 
On heaven's throne, 
In changeless majesty ? 

II. 

Proud rise the thoughts of men against thy will 

In every age ; 
Their failures and their follies constant fill 

Time's every page. 
Eternal bliss is thine, 
Nor change knows nor decline ; 
But in a moment everlasting 

All is seen, all is done. 
Naught forecast there, naught forecasting, 

Present, future, past are one ! 

III. 

Who shall rise against thy will divine. 

Or, rising, stand? 
Who oppose thy provident design 

With wanton hand? 



126 Religious Poems. 

Dost see the powers of earth and hell arrayed, 
Their cunning and seductive wiles displayed, 
From Satan's first rebellious cry, 
'* My throne I'll fix 'bove the Most High," 
From man's first unsubmitting deed 
Against the law thou hast decreed, 
Down through the cycles vast of time, 
Dark stained by deeds of sin and crime. 
' * I will not serve, ' ' proud Satan cried : 
' * I will not serve, ' ' screams human pride ; 
"We're gods ! our being is divine : 

We'll serve our will ! 
All else may fade, all else decline. 

We'll serve it still ! 
Whoso o'er us would rule supreme 
Must, Godlike, subject us esteem. 
Must ne'er our will by law restrain, 
Must bid us ne'er from aught refrain. 
Must deck our course with pleasure gay. 
Must bid us ne'er submission pay." 

IV. 

Great God ! great God ! who's like to thee. 

Who from eternity 
Dost laugh vain creatures' proud conceits to scorn, 

Dost glance upon the earth. 

Bid very stones give birth 



Relizioiis Poems. 



127 



To saints of Godlike power 
Before whom demons cower 
And men's proud efforts fade away- 
Like shadows ' fore the Lord of day, 
As night before the morn? 
Great God ! s^reat God ! who's Hke to thee? 




128 Religious Poems. 



THE DRUNKARD'S CHRISTMAS. 



'^ I ^WAS Christmas eve. Fast fell the snow, 

-L Like crystal gems from the shroud of night ; 
The streets were filled with joyous throngs ; 

The shops, ablaze with cheering light ; 
When down the street, with tottering step, 

A wretched drunkard made his way: 
He sought to shun the joyous scene 

Where all was mirth and fashion gay. 

On, on he groped, he knew not where. 

Till he left the light and throng behind. 
And, muttering, shivering, gazed around, 

A shelter from the night to find. 
But his strength was gone ; with weakened frame. 

In vain he onward strove to go. 
Half-dazed with drink, benumbed with cold, 

He sank in stupor on the snow. 

On fell the snow in ceaseless course ; 

Its crystal flakes of softest white 
Wrapped round his form a shroud of down 

That decked the earth for Christmas light. 



Religious Poems. 129 

Across his drink-disordered brain 

A pleasing glow diffused its life, 
And he thought he sat in his ancient halls 

On Christmas eve with his child and wife. 

There all was plenty, peace, and joy, 

Though without the storm was raging wild ; 
And his heart welled up with a parent's pride 

As he kissed good night to his darling child. 
It was but the fifth glad Christmas eve 

Since Heaven had joined them both as one : 
Each day success had 'lumed their path. 

And the future bright before them shone. 

But his brain grew dull as the snow fell on, 

And the hearthside now seemed dark and chill ; 
There his ragged child by a pallet knelt, 

Where his wife, from care and want, lay ill. 
Yet the demon Drink still held him fast, 

Till his fair young wife slept with the dead ; 
And the Angels of Charity took his child, 

While a homeless drunkard's life he led. 

On fell the snow, as if 'twould hide 
The drunkard from the eyes of men. 

He thought his hour of doom had come 
And he ne'er would see the light again. 



130 Religious Poems. 

Then terror froze his very soul 

As he stood before the Judge's throne, 

Where the mere' less demon held him fast 
And henceforth claimed him as his own. 



"Mine! mine!" cried the victor, " he's mine for 
aye ! 

While on the earth, he served me well ; 
None shall deprive me of him now : 

'Tis but one more to serve in hell." 
Then the drunkard looked in blank despair, 

But the Judge sat silent, cold, and stern : 
And his guardian spirit spake not a word ; — 

All waited his sad doom to learn. 



"Begone!" cried the Judge; and the victim 
shrieked 

As the demon seized his trembling prey : 
When lo ! from the earth there rose a prayer 

That seemed stern justice's course to stay; 
And the gaze of all was turned to earth. 

Where a maiden form at an altar prayed 
With fervent word for a parent dear 

Who long from the path of light had strayed. 



Religious Poe??is. 131 

II. 

It was Christmas eve ; and the holy lamp 

Burned bright before the ** Throne of Love," 
Where a virgin fair in charity's garb 

Sent up her sighs to the Lord above. 
That morn she had bound herself for aye 

With the holy vows, ' * Love's freeing chains ' ' ; 
And her fondest wish was to serve her Spouse 

In soothing misery's ills and pains. 

As she prayed for strength to the Lord supreme, 

Her mind was borne to a hearthside drear, 
Where she knelt by a dying mother's couch. 

Whence death had claimed all life held dear : 
And she thought of him who had wrought the woe ; 

With all his shame she loved him still, 
And her constant prayer through years had been 

That Heaven would deign this hope fulfill. 

Though a drunkard's child, her winning grace 

Had ranked her 'mong those angels pure 
Whose lives are spent in the drunkard's cause. 

For them some haven to secure. 
On that Christmas eve this was her prayer : 

' ' Dear Lord, who diedst to make us free, 
I ask of Thee one gracious boon : — 

Lord, spare my father unto me ! 



132 Religious Poems. 

I vow before this sacred shrine, 
For him through life full to atone : 

save him from the demon Drink, 

O make him once again thine own ! 
By the sacred thirst that on the cross 
Thou sufferedst to atone this sin, 

1 vow my life shall hence be spent 

From the poisoned cup poor souls to win." 

The Judge gazed on the victim sad : 

The demon screamed, " He must be mine." 
Again the virgin' s prayer arose : 

" Sweet Jesus, Jesus, make him thine ! " 
*' Begone," said the Judge; the demon fled. 

The drunkard gazed whence rose the prayer 
The virgin turned her face on high ; 

He saw his own child kneeling there. 



He felt a thrill run through his frame. 

' * I must rouse me from this bed of snow ; 
I must seek my child and begin anew 

A life of virtue here below. ' ' 
A pleasant warmth brought life again : 

He rubbed his half-bewildered eyes 
And gazed around ; but, lo, the scene 

But filled his soul with deep surprise. 



Religious Poems. 133 

He was not in the night, 'neath the winter's snow, 

But safe in a couch that brought him Hfe ; 
And there knelt by his side an angel form 

That seemed like the shade of his sainted wife. 
It was the child whose fervid prayer 

Had won him respite from his doom; 
And she clasped in love his aged hands, 

While her words seemed to call him from thetomb. 

** Father," she murmured, "safe at last ! " 

And she tenderly kissed his wrinkled brow. 
Then he clasped her fondly to his breast : 

' ' Naught, naught shall separate us now. 
Alas ! my God, the past is dark ; 

At the eleventh hour I turn to thee ; 
My life, like hers, shall hence be spent 

From the demon Drink poor souls to free." 

Like a being from another world, 

His life was spent in the noble cause ; 
And many a wretch in his course of sin 

At his words inspired was made to pause. 
Like his angel child, in the hovel drear 

He sought to soothe the brow of care, — 
From the hearth the demon Drink to drive 

And place the angel Temperance there. 



134 Religious Poems. 

It is Christmas eve. Fast falls the snow, 

Like crystal pearls from the urn of night ; 
And that noble child kneels by a couch, 

Whence a father's spirit takes its flight. 
" I go : I hope now in the Judge ! 

Ah ! Jesus, Master, make me thine ! " 
And she fondly kissed his pallid brow. 

And prayed, ' ' Sweet Jesus, make him thine. 




Religions Poems. 135 



THE PILGRIM'S CHRISTMAS. 

LONG had been the pilgrim's journey 
-^ From the distant Emerald Isle, 
Where he'd spent a youth unsullied, 

Tarnished not by sin or guile. 
Dark the days were then for Erin ; 

Cromwell's frown hung o'er the land 
Like a cloud of dread destruction, 
Blood and ruins on every hand. 

Just outside his native village 

Stood a ruined abbey vast. 
Parents loved to tell their children 

Of its glory in the past. 
There the pure white-robed Cistercian 

Spent a prayerful, peaceful life, — 
Served his God and served his neighbor, 

Free from earthly aims and strife. 

There the new-born babe was carried 

To the font of Christian hope ; 
There in youth, in age, in manhood. 

He was taught with trials to cope, 
Taught that life is short and fleeting, 

Vainly spent if spent for time, 
Taught by deed, and taught by precept, 

Man should aim at end sublime. 



136 Religious Poems. 

Now 'twas changed; alack ! its memory 

Lived but in the people's heart. 
Time, the tyrant-hand destroyer, 

Well fulfilled his ruthless part ; 
Fallen church, enclosure, convent, 

Broken arches, ruined walls 
Covered o'er with moss and lichen, 

Naught its glory past recalls. 

Joining next the sacred abbey. 

Noble Connor's mansion stood : 
Rivaled he his friar neighbors — 

Rivaled them in all that's good. 
Loved he much his dear Cistercians ; 

Gave them freely of his lands ; 
Proved their sole, their brave, protector 

'Gainst the fierce Cromwellian bands. 



For when came the fierce Protector, 

Sought to seize his abbey dear, 
Bold he showed his valiant spirit, 

Undeterred by craven fear. 
But the tyrant sware he'd have it 

(Ever did he what he saith). 
Seized the noble lord for treason, 

Gave him o'er to traitor's death. 



Religious Poems. 137 

With him stood his fliithful abbot — 

Faithful to the very last, — 
Fortified his noble spirit, 

Blessed him as from life he passed. 
Sad their parting was, yet hopeful, 

As they met in last embrace. 
Promised each — on earth — in heaven — 

Naught should friendship's love efface. 

Just a year had passed when Cromwell 

Sent an order in his name : 
They should leave their ancient abbey. 

Else he'd force his royal claim. 
Sware the peasants, " No ! and never 

Shall they drive our monks away : 
Ever they have gladly served us ; 

We love's service shall repay." 

Wroth was Cromwell at the answer, — 

Wroth, and feigned him yet content ; — 
Bode his time, then an army 

Toward the abbey secret sent. 
Awful was that scene of slaughter, 

Awful was that night of woe ; 
Abbot, monks, and church, and convent 

Fell beneath fanatic blow ! 



138 Religious Poems. 

Then the flame from tower and window 

Burst, — Ht up the gloom of night; 
And the people gazed with horror 

At that sad, heart-rending sight. 
Flitted here and there, like specters, 

White-robed friars but to fall 
'Neath the crushing ruins, or, sadder, 

'Neath the sword or rifle ball. 

Morning shone : the noble abbey 

Lay a smoldering, ruined mass. 
Faithful hearts and hands were ready 

To relieve, but there, alas ! 
All had fallen, — fifty brethren 

Now were numbered of the dead. 
Reverent their remains were gathered, 

Placed where martyrs' life they'd led. 

II. 

Twenty years had passed. ' Twas even 

Th' autumn sun had sunk to rest. 
Long his golden rays had lingered 

On each towering mountain crest. 
Breezes aromatic laden 

Rose from streamlet's side and dale, 
Kissed the mountain tops in passing. 

Died away in distant vale. 



Religious Poems. 139 

Close beside the ruined abbey 

Sat a youth in reverie deep ; — 
Starting sudden, gazed around him 

As if roused from heavy sleep. 
Connor's son it was (just twenty 

Years had shaped his manly grace), 
Now returned, from years of study. 

To his loved native place. 

He had heard in early childhood 

How his noble father fell. 
Sad at death so sudden sent him, 

Glad the cause became him well. 
Oft around the ruins he lingered, 

Memory's place youth's fancy served; 
Now, in dawning manhood's vigor, 

Deeper thoughts his spirit stirred. 

' Wandering ! ' ' cried he, * ' always wandering ; 

Roaming through the buried past. 
He who wrought this ruin, fallen 

(Tyranny must fall at last). 
Sad this spot that once was joyous ; 

On the land a dark blight fell. 
Ah ! the bitter woes around me 

Human tongue can never tell. 



I40 Religious Poems. 

Yonder stalks the starving peasant 

Followed by his famished brood, 
More like beasts than beings immortal 

For whom Christ died on the rood. 
Here where rose the chant of worship 

All is silent as the tomb ; 
Here were saints taught, prayed, and suffered, 

All is wrapped in death's dull gloom." 

Thus he murmured, sitting thoughtful 

Where the ancient chancel stood. 
Naught was heard but distant sighing 

Of the night winds through the wood. 
Bowed his head and slept, nor woke he 

Till the night full half had fled, 
Starting as there passed before him 

A white-robed specter from the dead. 

Chilled his very blood was in him 

At so strange, unearthly sight ; 
As the specter led, he followed. 

Knowing not he went, for fright. 
Then before the ruined altar 

Stopped the shade, and bowed to pray; 
Crossed and signed himself and offered 

Mass, as priests are wont to say. 



Religious Poeuis. 141 

Ere he finished, sudden terror 

Loosed its hold on Connor's heart. 
Gazed he closely. Was he waking? 

Was it but of dream a part? 
Nay ! there stood a white-robed friar 

Just like abbot dressed for mass. 
Then he signed the cross upon him : 

' * I will halt him ere he pass. ' ' 

'Spirit," spake he, "whence thy wandering? 

What disturbs thy hallowed rest ? 
Speak ! belike some troth hast broken, 

Or some wrong left unredressed ? 
By the rood and by our Lady, 

Tell me ! I may thee release, — 
Right the wrong, fulfill the promise, 

And secure thy spirit peace." 

' Listen, Connor," spake the specter: 

* 'Abbot was I here of yore ; 
Promised I thy dying father, — 

Promised, — when he'd be no more. 
Thrice a hundred masses would I 

Offer for his spirit's rest, 
And as pilgrim I or other 

Visit places Christ had blessed. 



142 Religious Poems. 

Yet when sudden death came on me, 

One sole mass should still be said, 
While the journey toward Calvary 

I nor other yet had made. 
Thus condemned am I here nightly 

Mass to offer, then away 
As a pilgrim toward Calvary, 

Till some friend my ransom pay." 

Touched was Connor's heart for pity. 

" I thy plighted vow shall pay, 
And the sacrifice unoffered 

Shall ascend ere dawns the day. 
Oft I heard you loved my father ; 

I in turn my love shall prove : 
I shall visit Calvary's summit. 

May you share his bliss above ! " 

III. 

Young Connor well fulfilled his promise : 

On that morn the mass was said; 
Then prepared his journey, giving 

Alms for living and for dead ; 
Left his native land as pilgrim. 

To fulfill the abbot's vow; 
Trod the way from Bethlehem's manger 

Unto Calvary's bloody brow. 



Religious Poems. 143 

This done, he longed once more to visit 

Where his Savior dear was born. 
He had reached the church of Bethlehem 

By the break of Christmas morn. 
All seemed lulled to rest around him ; 

Calm his spirit was within, 
With a peace born but of virtue 

In a soul unstained by sin. 

Brightly shone in dazzling splendor 

From the shrine the welcome rays ; 
Sweetly on his spirit sounded 

Angels' Christmas chant of praise. 
Filled with holy joy, he entered 

Bethlehem's grotto, where of yore 
Shepherds came and angels chanted, 

Th' infant Savior to adore. 

Bowed he low in adoration 

As he saw the angelic train : 
Gloria in excelsis Deo^^^ 

Sounded in celestial strain. 
Sweetly through the sacred grotto 

Floats the soft, seraphic praise ; 
Heaven opens wide its portals 

To the raptured pilgrim's gaze. 



144 '^ Religious Poems. 

There he saw, with soul delighted, 

In joys that evermore abide. 
His martyred father, and the abbot 

Standing glorious at his side. 
They were calling him. He answered : 

''Jesus, Master! Ah, I come!" 
In that instant he ascended. 

Joined them in their heavenly home. 

On the morrow white-robed friars 

Bare him to his place of rest ; 
Laid him as they found him — clasping 

Calvary's rood close to his breast. 
On his mound the cross was planted. 

Read the legend, simple, grand ; 
" Pilgrim, passed on Christmas morning 

To his true — his native land." 



Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 



PREFACE. 

The idea of the following visions was first sug- 
gested by reading the circumstances of Saint Paul's 
visit to Monte Argentaro. It was when worn and 
spent by a long journey on foot, after having met 
with failure at Rome, where he applied for an ap- 
proval of his projected religious society, that God 
refreshed his spirit by showing him in vision his 
own future and the future of the Passionist con- 
gregation. It was thence he started out with re- 
newed courage to consummate his long-cherished 
project. 

The order of the visions is taken from the beau- 
tiful antiphons arranged by the church for his 
feast. They are replete with beauty, and will well 
repay careful consideration. To the Children of 
Saint Paul, who are familiar with his history, these 
visions will be perfectly clear ; to those who are not 
acquainted with his beautiful life, they may serve 
as a motive urging them to study it. 



147 



Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross, 



FIRST VISION. 



Sub umbra illius, quern desideraveravt, sedi, et fructus ejus dulcis 
gutturimeo. 

I sat down under the shadow of that for which I had longed so 
ardently ; and sweet was its fruit to my palate. 



THE VOCATION. 



BENEATH the torrid noonday ray, 
Earth stricken, parched, and panting lay, 
As from his fiery blazoned car 
Day's sire his splendor shed afar. 
No warbler's joyous note was heard, 
No olive grove with zephyr stirred. 
No terraced vineyard charmed the eye. 
No date palm lured the passer-by 
As in that earthly paradise 
Where fair Val d'Arno's region lies, 
Where luscious fig and orange groves 
Kind nature's lavish gifts disclose, 
149 



150 Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 

Where vine-tiered mount and tropic plain 

Delight th' enchanted eye, 
Where fruits of varied year and clime 
All deck one season's gracious time, 

Where wealth and beauty vie. 
But 'twas Grosseto's cheerless shore, 
Where noxious marsh lay stretched before, 
Where dun and native barren soil 
Invites no patient, hopeful toil. 
Where sickly growth, unfit the name, 
Droops, scarce conceals its parent's shame, 
Where flowers morn's dawning smile gave birth 
Lie stricken, lifeless on the earth 

'Neath noon's untempered ray. 
While now in this Sol's tyrant hour. 
All save those creatures of his power — 
That venomed, myriad insect world 
Which round in crazy legions whirled — 

Had fled the blighting day. 
For in Maremma's noonday breath 
There slept the poisoned kiss of death. 

II. 

Yet one there was who seemed to dare 
The noisome marsh, the midday glare. 
Ere morn had shed her blushful ray, 
Presageful of the radiant day, 



Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 151 

His unprotected feet had trod 
From Alessandria many a rod. 
His robe was shroud of raven hue ; 

The cross shone from his breast ; 
Unsandaled feet, uncovered head 
(Though noon his blasting splendor shed), 
Nor friend nor beast his toil to share, 
Armed only with Our Lady's Prayer, 

That ever bringeth rest. 
Upon his brow the spring of life 
Had writ no trace of baleful strife. 
(Seemed sad life's summer, just begun. 
Should shroud in gloom its rising sun.) 
Men thought, beHke, for damning sin 
He sought in penance grace to win ; 
But who had seen that raptured face. 
And in it aught of sin could trace ? 
Who gazed into those ravished eyes, 
And said they looked not 'bove the skies? 
Though knelt he by the Magdalen's side, 

'Neath the redeeming cross, 
Love taught him best how souls to win. 
As Christ had borne the form of sin 

To save us heaven's loss. 

III. 
Though man and nature stricken lay 
By Italy's wasting, torrid day. 



152 Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 

On, on, his spirit urged him, on, 
Though oft the flesh had borne him down. 
At morn Ombrone's sulphur wave 
Refreshing draught and courage gave ; 
Now, parched his lips and weak his frame, 
Naught from Maremma might he claim 

Save an unhallowed tomb. 
Had hope not cheered his anxious eye 
As oft in joy he did descry 
Mount Argentaro rising high, 

In rich and varied bloom. 
At last, well spent with toil and heat, 
Here rest his wearied form did greet ; 
Where, gliding from its rocky shore. 
The Tuscan sea lay stretched before. 
In lazy calm, the varied sail 
Await the distant Alpine gale ; 
The waves waft in their soothing breeze ; 
The shores invite to restful ease ; 
While up majestic to the sky 
The cherished mount ascendeth high. 
Now Paul beholds the entrancing sight. 
Where wearied frame might find delight, 
Where up the mountain's shaggy side 
The shadeful beech with palm tree vied. 
Where from his rocky veins doth flow 

The crystal, living stream, 



Viswfis of Saint Paul of the Cross. 153 

Where all invites to cheering rest, 
Where nature's chosen ones are blest, 

Where poets love and dream. 
All this did greet the wearied saint, 
More fair than brush or pen can paint : 
But, ere his parched and panting breast 
By fount or grove should yield to rest, 
First knelt he, bowed in thankful prayer, 
Thus nature's choicest gifts to share; 
And as he turned his gaze on high 
A vision seemed to meet his eye. 
For, where the mountain mates the sky. 

He saw redemption's sign. 
A mighty cross majestic stood. 
That ruled for ages land and flood. 
As symbol of the holy rood 

That bore the Lamb divine. 

IV. 

Now vanished from his ravished sight 
Whate'er could wearied flesh delight — 
The cooling wave, the inviting fount. 
The pleasant vale, the shadeful mount ; 
Naught saw he save the sacred cross. 

That held his raptured gaze. 
As flies the needle to the pole, 
Now to the cross up-sped his soul. 



154 Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 

The flesh a godHke power had gained, 
The fleeting joys of sense disdained. 
Up, up the mount entranced he fled, 
And, 'neath the rood where Jesus bled. 

He falls and loving prays, 
'^Sub umbra illius — 'neath thy shade — 
With deep desire my rest I've made. 
Thee, tree of life, with love I greet ; 
Unto my lips thy fruit is sweet, 
Sweeter than all that earth can give 

Or sateless sense inspire, — 
Sweeter than wave to hunted hart, — 
Sweeter than honey's sweetest part, — 
Sweeter than manna to famished lips, — 
Sweeter than goblet that nectar drips, — 

Sweeter than sweetest desire." 

V. 

Thus prayed he, prostrate as he lay, 
Unmindful of the fierce noonday ; 
For joy divine his spirit stirred, 
Celestial words his spirit heard. 
Beneath this shade, he saw, his life 
Should taste its fruits of toil and strife. 
Through him who died upon the wood, 
Sweet should this fruit be of the rood ! 



Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 155 



SECONa VISION. 

In meditatione niea exardescet ignis ; /actus est in corde nieo quasi 
ignis excEstuans. 

In my meditation a fire shall flame up ; it shall become in my heart a 
consuming furnace. 

THE TEMPTATION. 



HAD passed th' ecstatic vision by, 
And Thabor was a Calvary ! 
For, as the saint enraptured prayed, 
A deadly charge hell's prince assayed. 
A fire not born of heaven's grace 

Or virtue's deep desire 
Now pierced him with its venomed dart, 
While foe on foe assail his heart, — 

Joy's burning sense inspire. 
First, pleasure's fair, voluptuous form 
Comes decked in many a wanton charm 
That meets and holds the captive eye 

In its delightful thrall 
Ere reason wakes to claim its own 
Hath passion made the heart its throne ; 
And sight to half desire hath grown 
'Fore conscience the sad truth hath known. 

Alack, 'tis one more fall ! 



156 Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 

Now fiercer glowed th' unholy flame 
Through his unsullied, weakened frame, 
And passion whispered to his heart, 
" 'Tis vain — 'tis vain, the stoic's part ! 
Life's but a day ; joy, but an hour ; 
Decay begins scarce born the power ; 
Take — take the bliss kind nature gives ; 
Who sates her longings truly lives ! ' ' 

II. 

With horror stricken at the thought, 
The saint in Jesus succor sought ; 
And as he raised his loving eyes 

Unto the sacred rood, 
He saw the Savior's naked frame. 
As down his wounded shoulders came 
The hallowed streams, in ruddy flow, 
That cleansed the Magdalen below, 

Clasping the saving wood. 
Damped was the flesh's lustful fire; 
Dispelled, the form's unchaste desire; 
An ardor new, sent from above, 
Lit up a flame of chaster love. 
''M meditatione mea 

A sacred fire shall burn : 
My heart doth seem a quenchless flame 
That feeds upon thy sacred name. 



Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 157 

Begone, ye fleeting joys of sense, — 
For evermore I bid ye, hence ! 
With Christ I'm fastened to the cross; 
For him alone I yearn." 

III. 

' ' O riven heart ! O thorn-crowned head ! 
O bleeding wounds, love's fountains red ! 
O why have sinners wounded thee, — 
Fixed upon the shameful tree ? 
O why do sinners wound thee now, — 
Crown again thy sacred brow ? 
Accept the vow I proffer here : 
One joy alone to me be dear — 
To suffer with thee on the cross, 
Though cost it life and pleasure's loss ! " 



158 Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 



THIRD VISION. 

Mihi absit gloriari nisi in cruce Domini nostri Jesu Christi, per 
quern mihi mundus crucifixus est, et ego mundo. 

Far be it from me to glory save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
through whom the world is crucified to me, and I to the world. 

THE TEMPTATION. — (Continued.) 



SCARCE o'er flesh was victory won, 
The world its charge had bold begun. 
Before the youthful saint there passed 

Gold's glittering array. 
As when the Tempter dared unfold 
The glory, power, and wealth untold 
Of nations vast before the God 
At whose supreme, almighty nod 

Worlds are or pass away. 
So now ambition's sateless fire 
Would flame unhallowed pomp's desire. 
High up the mount of fickle fame 
Stands glory's priestess, and his name 
She seems to write with flaming pen — 
' ' Be thou a ruler over men ' ' ; 
Along power's rugged path her smile 
His youthful steps would fain beguile ; 



Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross, 159 

While fortune's minions bend the knee 

At his triumphant course, 
As plenty strews the golden way, 
And pomp and power their pride display, 
And passions revel — wanton, gay, — 
As newer pleasure gilds each day 

And drowns the last's remorse. 



II. 



As gazed the saint up glory's height, 

Still higher something met his sight, 

Where hung, upon the saving tree, 

A God in naked poverty. 

No gorgeous pomp or pride was there, 

Winning the eye with prospect fair ; 

No luring pleasures decked the way 

With vain and varied wealth's array; 

No rabble rent the voiceful sky 

As fortune's victim flitted by : 

But lone the path and rough the road 

That led to Calvary's top. 
Where gloom hung brooding o'er the height, 
Where sense and flesh ne'er found delight, 
But pain and want and cold neglect 
And all the world and hell reject 

Made many a craven stop. 



i6o Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 

III. 

Not thus our saint : that instant fled 
The glitter wealth and power had shed. 

' 'Mihi absit gloriari 

Nisi in cruce Domini — 
Far from me be it to glory, save 
In Jesus' cross, that ransom gave. 
Though straight and rugged be the way, 
Though glory shed no tinsel ray, 
Though Parasceve be sunk in gloom. 
Soon bursts the splendor of the tomb. 
Save from this mount, no soul ascendeth 
To hills eternal, where joy ne'er endeth. 
To me the world is crucified, 
Through that hard cross where Jesus died 
I to the world on it am dead 
In him who for us on it bled." 



Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. i6i 



FOURTH VISION. 

Elongavi fugiens, et mansi hi solitudine ; et exultavit solitudo, 
floruit, et gerniinavit : ipsi videbunt gloriani Domini. 

And fleeing, I dwelt in solitude ; and the wilderness rejoiced and 
flourished : and they shall behold the glory of the Lord. 

VICTORY. 



NOW was the chastening struggle done 
The saint had vahant victory won 
Ere full the sun his course had run. 
With tempered beam he greets the height 
And steeps it in his golden light. 
From ofif the mount eve's fragrant breath 
Doth drive day's torrid ray of death, 
While zephyrs, fresh from Tuscan wave 

Or shadeful valley fair, 
Soft fan the mountain's burning brow, 
Where all is life and beauty now. 
Where flower and shrub no longer bow, 

But sway in dewy air. 

II. 
As prayed the saint, the blooming height 
With wonder fixed his ravished sight. 
Ne'er sage or sainted anchoret sought 



1 62 Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 

From nature more inviting spot, 
To live blest mortal's envied lot. 

' ' Elo7igavi fugiens 

In solitudine. 

My God, where nobler choice ? 
Here nature's beauties mirror thine: 
The wooded height, the mount's decline, 
The singing stream that glads the vale, 
The warbler's cheering matin hail, 

Bid man in thee rejoice ? ' ' 



III. 



Still, as he gazed, his wondering eye^ 
Far nobler scene did now descry 

Exultavit solitude, 

Et floruit germi?iavitque. 
The solitude with life was glad, 
In native bloom and glory clad. 
Where 'neath the cross he'd knelt alone, 
Now, as around their monarch's throne, 
A noble band was seen to rise, 
Who wealth and pleasure's hope despise : 
They plant the cross in every clime, 
Proclaiming Calvary's truths subhme; 
As by the rood they kneel in prayer. 
Doth Heaven lend attentive ear ; 



Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 163 

With somber garb and chastened mien, 
Like other Christs on earth are seen, 
Forever pointing to the height 
Whence beams redemption's saving Hght. 

IV. 

Hark ! hear the solemn midnight chant, 

With hght and music sweet : 
The days of penitential grief, 
The gladsome feast that brings relief, 
The varied hours of work and prayer, 
The joys, the trials all equal share, 

Where all as brothers meet ! 
Uprose his thankful prayer on high 
That Heaven deigned such victory ! 
* ' May every tongue the praise proclaim 
Of Jesus ! sacred saving name ! 
May every heart, fond, loving, share 
The sorrows Jesus deigned to bear ! 
May have our minds one cherished thought — 
That Jesus' blood our souls has bought, 

And sealed them as his own ; 
That not in vain he trod our earth 
To win us life of endless worth ; 
That not in vain his blood did flow. 
Or fell the lash's cruel blow ; 
Not vain he for our pardon cried ; 
Not vain he for our ransom died." 



164 Vistofzs of Saint Paul of the Cross. 



FIFTH VISION. 



Dominiis dedit mihi linguam eruditam, ut sciani sustentare eum qui 
lapsus est, ut mederer contritis corde, ut consolarer lugentes. 

The Lord hath given me a ready tongue, that I may lift up the 
fallen, that I may heal the contrite of heart, and console those that are 
in sadness. 

THE MISSION. 



NOW had the gladdened saint forgot 
The trials and heats that were his lot. 
With higher bliss would Heaven still 
His ravished, panting spirit fill. 
From sin-stained mortals rose a cry- 
That up the mount ascended high ; 
And, like resistless flaming dart, 
It pierced his all-beloving heart 
And fired his soul with ardent glow 
As forth he saw, in crimson flow, 
Five ruddy streams from Calvary's rood 

Bemoist the sin-steeped earth, 
As, eld, in earthly paradise. 
From Heaven's throne took mystic rise, 
The five life-giving streams that flowed 
Through man's fair, whilom glad, abode. 



Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 1 65 

II. 

* ^Dominus dedit mihi li7tguam / ' ' 
Cried the ravished saint. 
' * The Lord a winning tongue hath given, 
That I may lead lost souls to heaven. ' ' 
And at this call do sinners kneel 
Beside these founts of life ; 
And in their grace-restoring wave 
Each sin-encrimsoned soul doth lave, 
That, sunk beneath its scarlet weight. 
Now rises robed in spotless white. 
Full oft he soothed, like heavenly balm, 
And brought to wearied spirits calm, 
Or raised poor mortals stricken low 
Beneath sin's death-begetting blow. 
Oft shared he with the sinking heart 
Of sorrow's pains a loving part. 
Or cheered the soul that terrors pierce. 
Or dried the mourner's hopeless tears. 

III. 

The torrid, wearing day was done, 
Had sunk in gloom the tyrant sun. 
Fast swept the trailing robe of night 
Across the even's falling light, 
O'ershrouding nature's life and bloom 
In damp and darkness of the tomb, 



1 66 Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 

As saw the saint beneath the rood 

The souls he laved in Jesus' blood 

Increase into an army vast, 

O'er all, its rayless shroud night cast ; 

And on him dread and terror came, 

As if death would its victim claim, — 

Hell now its final charge would dare, 

And crush his spirit in despair. 

But firm he raised his trusting eyes — 

His soul seemed borne beyond the skies, 

Where burst upon his anxious view 

A sun of deathless morn. 
Fast fled the doubt and dread away ; 
All now was joyous, lightsome day, 
As up his gladdened spirit rose 
Unto the mount of love's repose. 

By flaming spirits borne. 



Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 167 



GLORY. 

O animarum venator, Evangelii prcBco lucerna fulgens, Paule ! 
didicisti sapientiam in vulneribus Christi; confortaris ad labores in 
sanguine Christi : ge7ites ducts ad poenitentiam per Passionem 
Christi: accipe coronamjustitice de manibus Christi. 

O glorious Saint Paul, ardent seeker of souls, bright herald of the 
Gospel message ! Thou hast learnt wisdom in the wounds of Christ ; 
in the blood of Christ wert thou strengthened to toil for souls ; by 
Christ's passion didst thou lead sinners to penance : receive the crown 
of justice from the hands of Christ, thy Savior. 

ODE. 



HEAR the hymns of praise ascending, 
Tones of rapturous gladness swelHng, 
From each ransomed soul upwelling : 
' ' Glory, glory, peace unending, 
Joy and bliss in sweet love blending." 

II. 
Calvary' s gloom has passed away ; 
All is glorious Easter day. 

See the demons stricken fly 
Back to hell, 
There to tell 
Of a saint's ascent on high. 
Angels bear his soul along, 
Chanting glad, celestial song. 



1 68 Visions of Sainf Paul of the Cross. 

On through heaven's joyous way, — 
On to heaven's endless day, — 
On before the Godhead's throne, 
One in three, and three in one ! 
There his soul in exultation 
Bows in lowly adoration. 
* ' Who, O God, is like to thee 
In unending majesty ? ' ' 
Angels catch the sweet refrain, 
Chant it proudly forth again. 
''Who, O God, is like to thee— 
Thou whose being is To Be — 
Save who died upon the tree, 
Died to make poor mortals free ! ' ' 
Heaven's Lord then spake divine : 
All attend his grand design. 
"Thou, my son, shalt be like me : 
Thou shalt share my majesty. 
Through him who died upon the tree 
Thou shalt reign forever free ! 
No more sorrow, no more pain. 
Grief, or trial shall come again ; 
Bliss untold without alloy 
Be thy deathless, sateless joy." 



^i ll 



Visions of Saint Paul of the Cross. 169 

III. 

As they gazed in bliss enraptured 

On th' ecstatic sight, 
Up the cross in glory rose : 
Bright like sapphire gems it glows ; 
Myriad angels to it cling, — 
Loud their songs adoring ring ! 
'^Sub umbra illius — neath thy shade" — 
Murmured the saint, ' ' my rest I made : 
Here forever be my rest, 
Here forever be it blest. ' ' 
Down before the Father's throne 

Heaven's legions bow. 
On his soul like balm it fell : 
Choirs could now his glory tell. 

As upon his virgin brow 
Heaven's bright aureola fell. 

IV. 

" Glory, glory be to thee. 
Glory through eternity ! ' ' 
Seraphs catch the glad acclaim, 
" Endless glory to thy name !" 



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